THE  LADY'S  ORACLE, 


liUt-.ofl.  Sinclair,  Phil", 


THE 


LADY'S  ORACLE: 


AN  ELEGANT  PASTIME 


fOK 


garths  ml  tjp  /amity 


BY  HENRIETTA  DUMONT. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

H.  C.  PECK  &  THEO.  BLISS. 

1851. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1851,  by 

H.  C.  PECK   &  THEO.  BLISS, 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  Eastern  District  of 
Pennsylvania. 


STEREOTYPED  BY  L.  JOHNSON  AND  CO. 
PHILADELPHIA. 


for  dConjsttlttnjj  tfjt 

The  person  who  holds  the  book  asks  the  question. 
The  person  whose  fortune  is  to  be  read  selects  any  one 
of  the  fifty  answers  under  that  question,  say  No.  10, 
and  the  questioner  reads  aloud  the  answer  No.  10, 
which  will  be  the  Oracle. 


WHEN  a  social  party  of  young  people  is  assem- 
bled for  an  evening's  enjoyment,  it  sometimes  hap- 
pens that  conversation  flags,  and  every  one  feels  the 
necessity  of  some  movement  which  shall  dissipate 
the  awkwardness  and  restraint  of  the  moment,  and 
afford  the  means  of  active  and  interesting  amuse- 
ment. Some  elegant  pastime,  which  affords  an 
opportunity  for  the  flow  of  remark  and  the  play  of 
fancy,  then  becomes  a  desideratum ;  and  it  is  pre- 
cisely to  supply  this  desideratum,  that  the  following 
volume  has  been  compiled.  It  is  a  game  of  ques- 
tions and  answers  between  a  lady  and  gentleman; 
and  may  be  carried  successively  round  a  whole 
circle,  all  giving  attention  to  each  question  and  each 
answer. 

The  answers  being  quoted  from  standard  poets, 
and  made  by  a  chance  choice  of  numbers,  all  appear- 
ance of  personality  is  avoided,  and  the  amusement, 

7 


which  often  occasions  the  liveliest  mirth,  is  free 
from  every  ground  of  offence. 

Some  of  the  answers  are  of  a  highly  humorous 
character,  while  others  are  grave,  sentimental,  or 
patriotic.  As  there  is  a  large  number  of  questions, 
and  fifty  answers  to  each  question,  a  company  will 
find  sufficient  entertainment  in  it  to  last  a  whole 
evening,  and  for  many  evenings  in  succession.  In 
fact,  the  possession  of  such  a  book  in  a  family  will 
afford  the  means  of  entertainment  to  a  party  of 
friends,  whenever  books,  prints,  music,  dancing,  and 
the  ordinary  games  of  social  parties  fail. 

The  good  effects  of  an  amusement  of  the  intellec- 
tual kind  which  we  propose,  are  manifold.  The 
frequent  repetition  of  choice  extracts  from  standard 
poets,  stores  the  mind  with  agreeable  images,  im- 
proves the  taste,  and  familiarizes  the  ear  to  the 
musical  rhythm  of  good  poetry ;  it  also  enlarges  the 
vocabulary,  and  increases  the  conversational  powers. 
But  the  chief  value  of  the  game  is  still  the  present 
advantage  derived  from  the  pleasure  it  affords  in 
playing  it. 

We  hold  to  the  doctrine  that  one  renders  a  real 
bond  fide  benefit  to  mankind,  who  proposes  a  new 
innocent  amusement.  In  our  country  particularly, 


we  work  too  hard,  and  we  think  too  much  and  too 
anxiously  about  business,  and  money,  and  household 
cares,  and  our  future  worldly  prosperity;  the  con- 
sequence is,  that  we  wear  out  our  minds  and  bodies 
too  soon.  If  we  gave  more  time  to  innocent  recrea- 
tion, we  should  enjoy  better  health,  live  longer, 
and  perform  more  service  to  our  friends,  our 
families,  and  our  country.  When  the  day's  work, 
a  fair  day's  work  is  done,  it  is  our  duty  to  relax  our 
minds  from  all  worldly  care,  trust  the  morrow  to 
Providence,  and  give  the  evening  to  our  friends  and 
to  innocent  recreation.  By  so  doing,  we  increase 
the  sum  of  human  happiness  without  violating  any 
law,  human  or  divine. 

We  are  aware  that  many  of  our  readers  will  re- 
gard these  as  self-evident  truths,  which  it  is  hardly 
worth  while  to  repeat ;  but  we  know  very  well  that 
there  are  others  who  are  so  earnestly  engaged  in  the 
pursuit  of  worldly  wealth  and  honour,  that  they 
esteem  every  hour  spent  in  amusement  of  any  kind 
as  a  dead  loss.  This  is  a  grave  error,  especially  in 
a  young  person;  and  those  who  entertain  such 
views  should  recollect  that  an  exclusive  devotion  to 
worldly  advancement  is  wrong ;  it  distorts  the  cha- 
racter ;  it  renders  sorrow  and  chastisement  neces- 


10 

sary,  in  order  to  soften  and  humanize  the  disposi- 
tion, and  prepare  the  soul  for  that  world  where  the 
greatest  worldly  advancement  is  of  no  value  what- 
ever. 


Kwl  irf 


THE  following  twenty  Questions,  with  fifty  Answers 
each,  numbered,  are  used  in  consulting  the  Oracle: — 

PAGK. 

What  are  your  sentiments  towards  me  ? — Gentleman.  13 

What  are  your  sentiments  towards  me? — Lady 23 

Describe  the  personal  appearance  of  your  lady- 
love.— Gent 33 

Describe  the  personal    appearance    of   him  you 

love. — Lady 44 

What  is  the  character  of  your  lady-love? — Gent 54 

What  is  the  character  of  him  you  love  ? — Lady 63 

How  do  you  pass  your  time? — Gent 72 

How  do  you  pass  your  time? — Lady 80 

What  scenery  do  you  prefer? 89 

What  is  your  worldly  condition? 99 

Describe  your  future  residence 109 

What  will  be  your  future'destiny  ? 119 

What  music  do  you  love? 128 

What  part  of  the  day  do  you  love? 145 

What  season  do  you  love? .159 

Which  is  your  favourite  flower? 175 

Which  is  your  favourite  dramatic  character? 194 

Which  is  your  favourite  historical  character? 217 

Who  is  your  favourite  poet? 235 

Which  is  your  favourite  bird? 250 

11 


ravished  fancy,  in  amaze, 
Still  wanders  o'er  thy  charms ; 
Delusive  dreams  ten  thousand  ways 
Present  thee  to  my  arms. 

Ramsay. 


2.  I  am  no  pilot ;  yet  wert  thou  as  far 

As  that  vast  shore  washed  with  the  farthest  sea, 
I  would  adventure  for  such  merchandise. 

ShaJcspeare. 


3.  Get  thee  to  a  nunnery  1 


Shdkspeare. 


4.  Never  yet  did  mariner 

Put  up  to  patron  saint  such  prayers  for  prosperous 
And  pleasant  breezes  as  I  call  upon  you. 

Byron. 


13 


14 


5.  There  is  a  fair  behaviour  in  thee. 

And  though  that  nature  with  a  beauteous  wall 
Doth  oft  close  in  pollution,  yet  of  thee 
I  will  believe  thou  hast  a  mind  that  suits 
With  this  thy  fair  and  outward  character. 

Shakspeare. 

6.  Thou  livest  in  my  heart,  through  distance  —  time, 

Midst  fickle  friendships  and  fantastic  joys, 
Alone  a  truth:  —  like  Love,  which  is  sublime, 
Thy  sweet  smile  elevates,  and  never  cloys. 
Barry  Cornwall. 

7.  Bonnie  Mary  Hay,  I  will  lo'e  thee  yet; 

For  thy  eye  is  the  slae,  and  thy  hair  is  the  jet, 
The  snaw  is  thy  skin,  and  the  rose  is  thy  cheek: 
Oh!  bonnie  Mary  Hay,  I  will  lo'e  thee  yet. 

Crawford. 
• 

8.  But  if  fond  love  thy  heart  can  gain, 

I  never  broke  a  vow  ; 
Nae  maiden  lays  her  skaith  to  me; 
I  never  loved  but  you. 

Graham. 

9.  Oh,  sweet  grow  the  lime  and  the  orange, 

And  the  apple  on  the  pine  ; 
But  a'  the  charms  o'  the  Indies 
Can  never  equal  thine. 

Sums. 


'*  ©tacit.  15 


10.  I'll  have  thy  beauty  scratched  with  briers, 
And  made  more  homely  than  thy  state. 

Shakspeare. 

11.  A  little  word  in  kindness  spoken, 

A  motion  or  a  tear, 

Has  often  healed  the  heart  that's  broken, 
And  made  a  friend  sincere. 

Bridett. 

12.  Affection  is  lowly  and  deep; 

All  groundless  suspicion  above, 
It  knows  but  to  trust  or  to  weep. 

Mrs.  Ellis. 

13.  How  divinely  sweet 
Is  the  pure  joy  when  kindred  spirits  meet. 

Moore. 

14.  Like  as  the  ivy  round  the  elm  doth  wreathe, 

So  friendship  twines,  nor  quits  its  hold  till  death. 

Friend. 

15.  As  fair  art  thou,  my  bonnie  lass, 

Sae  deep  in  love  am  I; 
*  And  I  will  love  thee  still,  my  dear, 

Till  a'  the  seas  gang  dry. 

Burns. 

16.  A  gaudy  dress  and  gentle  air 

May  slightly  touch  the  heart, 
But  it's  innocence  and  modesty 
That  polishes  the  dart. 

Burns. 


16  ®&,e  3U&s'js  ©ml*. 


17.  0  how  much  more  doth  beauty  beauteous  seem 

By  that  sweet  ornament  which  truth  doth  give; 
The  rose  looks  fair,  but  fairer  we  it  deem 
For  that  sweet  odour  which  doth  in  it  live. 
•  Shdkspeare. 

18.  There's  nane  to  me  wi'  her  can  vie, 

I'll  love  her  till  I  dee, 
For  she's  sae  sweet,  and  bonnie,  aye, 
And  kind  as  kind  can  be. 

Cameron. 

19.  The  tender  glance,  the  reddening  cheek, 

O'erspread  with  rising  blushes, 
A  thousand  various  ways  they  speak 
A  thousand  various  wishes. 

Hamilton. 

20.  What  I  most  prize  in  woman 

Is  her  affections,  not  her  intellect  I 
The  intellect  is  finite,  but  the  affections 
Are  infinite,  and  cannot  be  exhausted. 
Compare  me  with  the  great  men  of  the  earth: 
What  am  I?    Why,  a  pigmy  among  giants  I 
But  if  thou  lovest — mark  me!  I  say  lovestl 
The  greatest  of  thy  sex  excels  thee  not! 

Longfellow. 

21.  Oh,  woman,  oft  misconstrued!  the  pure  pearls 
Lie  all  too  deep  in  thy  heart's  secret  well, 
For  the  unpausing  and  impatient  hand 

To  win  them  forth. 

Sigourney. 


'jff  ©ml*.  17 


22.  My  soul  is  ravished  with  delight 

When  you  I  think  upon  ; 
All  griefs  and  sorrows  take  their  flight, 

And  hastily  are  gone: 
The  fair  resemblance  of  your  face  « 

So  fills  this  breast  of  mine, 
No  fate  nor  force  can  it  displace, 

For  old  long  syne. 

Old  Song. 

23.  Oh,  how  can  beautie  master  the  most  strong! 

Spenser. 

24.  I've  wandered  east,  I've  wandered  west, 

I've  borne  a  weary  lot; 
But  in  my  wanderings,  far  or  near, 
Ye  never  were  forgot. 

MbtheruoeU. 

25.  May  health,  life's  greatest  blessing, 

Beam  on  thy  cheek  and  brow; 
Be  thine  love's  fond  caressing 
Wi'  ane  whase  heart  is  true. 

Charles  Gray. 

26.  0  come  to  my  arms,  lassie,  charming  an'  fair, 

Awa'  wild  alarms,  lassie  dear; 
This  fond  heart  an'  thine  like  ivy  shall  twine, 
I'll  lo'e  thee,  dear,  till  the  day  that  I  dee. 

Jaap. 


18  l&lt  Sta&s'js  ©mlt. 


27.  Nocht's  to  be  gained  at  woman's  hand, 

Unless  ye  gi'e  her  a'  the  plea; 
Then  I'll  leave  aff  where  I  began, 
And  tak'  my  auld  cloak  about  me. 

Ramsay. 

28.  But  though  thy  fair  and  faithless  air 

Hath  wrung  the  bosom-sigh  frae  me; 
A  changing  mind  and  heart  unkind 
May  chill  a  breast  as  dear  to  thee. 

Ivan. 

29.  Witless  hizzie,  e'ens  ye  like, 

The  ne'er  a  doit  I'm  carin'  ; 
But  men  maun  be  the  first  to  speak, 
An'  wanters  maun  be  speirin'. 

A.L. 

30.  I  prize  your  smile  as  husbandman 

The  summer's  opening  bloom  ; 
And,  could  you  frown,  I  dread  it  mair 
Than  he  the  autumn's  gloom. 

Ferguson. 

31.  To  see  thee  in  anither's  arms, 

In  love  to  lie  and  languish, 
'Twad  be  my  dead,  that  will  be  seen, 
My  heart  wad  burst  wi'  anguish. 

Burns. 

32.  Ye're  my  ain,  love,  ye're  my  ain! 

Forms  sae  fair,  I  ne'er  see  mony; 
Hearts  sae  fond,  sae  true,  love,  nane! 
Ye're  my  ain!  my  dear!  my  bonny! 

Knowles. 


J,a&2'a  ©rarlt.  19 


33.  Fondly  wooing,  fondly  sueing, 

Let  me  love,  nor  love  in  vain ; 
Fate  shall  never  fond  hearts  sever, 
Hearts  still  bound  by  true  love's  chain. 

Allan. 

34.  Lassie,  I  maun  leave  you  too, 

Though  I  lo'e  you  best  o'  ony ; 
Ye  ha'e  wooers  mony  ane, 

Ye  winna  ken  the  want  o'  Johnny! 

Laing. 

35.  A  boon  may  I  venture  to  beg  frae  thee,  Heaven? 

Amid  a'  my  care,  an'  my  toil,  an'  my  fear, 
Be  the  heart-warmin'  impulse  o'  frien'ship  me  given, 
To  live  in  her  smile,  or  be  worthy  her  tear. 

Scotch  Song. 

36.  Go  fetch  to  me  a  pint  o'  wine, 

And  fill  it  in  a  silver  tassie; 
That  I  may  drink  before  I  go, 
A  service  to  my  bonnie  lassie. 

Burns. 

37.  For  while  I  gaze  my  bosom  glows, 
My  blood  in  tides  impetuous  flows ; 
Hope,  fear,  and  joy,  alternate  roll, 
And  floods  of  transport  'whelm  my  soul. 

Smollett. 

38.  There's  nane  can  tell  what's  yet  to  come, 

But  round  my  heart  I  will  entwine 
The  hope  that  time  will  bring  the  day 
When  I  can  ca'  yon  lassie  mine. 

Stede. 


20  Qftt  la&s's  ©ratlt. 


39.  When  I  see  you,  I  love  you;  when  hearing,  adore; 
I  wonder,  and  think  you  a  woman  no  more  ; 

Till,  mad  wi'  admiring,  I  canna  contain, 
And,  kissing  your  lips,  you  turn  woman  again. 

Webster. 

40.  A  bonnie  lass,  I  will  confess, 

Is  pleasant  to  the  e'e, 
But  without  some  better  qualities, 
She's  no  a  lass  for  me. 

Burns. 

41.  Ah!  could  you  look  into  my  heart, 

And  watch  your  image  there, 
You  would  own  the  sunny  loveliness 
Affection  makes  it  wear. 

Mrs.  Osgood. 

42.  Oh  !  no,  my  heart  can  never  be 

Again  in  lightest  hopes  the  same; 
The  love  that  lingers  there  for  thee 
Hath  more  of  ashes  than  of  flame  ! 

Miss  Landon. 

43.  Your  life  is  like  the  living  sun, 

That  gi'es  life  to  the  plain  ; 
Though  clouds  awhile  may  dim  his  smile, 

He'll  brighter  beam  again. 
I  wouldna  be  the  cloud  that  comes 

Atween  your  love  an'  ye; 
Your  life's  sweet  light  —  the  light  o'  lo'e, 

Lo'e  glentin'  frae  the  e'e. 

Bennoch. 


©ml*. 


44.  Bonnie  wee  thing,  cannie  wee  thing, 

Lovely  wee  thing,  wert  thou  mine, 
I  wad  wear  thee  in  my  bosom, 
Lest  my  jewel  I  should  tine. 

Sums. 

45.  How  sweet  to  view  that  face  so  meek, 

That  dark  expressive  eye  ; 
To  kiss  that  lovely  blushing  cheek, 
Those  lips  of  coral  dye. 

Rodger. 

46.  Dear  child,  how  could  I  wrong  thy  name? 

Thy  form  so  fair  and  faultless  stands, 
That  could  ill  tongues  abuse  thy  fame, 
Thy  beauty  would  make  large  amends  ! 

Hamilton. 

47.  Thy  voice  trembles  through  me 

Like  the  breeze, 
That  ruffles,  in  gladness, 

The  leafy  trees  ; 
;Tis  a  wafted  tone 
From  heaven's  high  throne, 
Making  hearts  thine  own, 

My  Mary  dhu. 

Moir. 

48.  And  yet  I  love  thee  with  a  love 

That  cannot  fade  or  pass  away; 
And  time  alone  such  love  can  prove, 
As  orient  sunshine  proves  the  day. 

Nevay. 


22  f&f)*  la&s'js  ©twit. 


49.  Must  Robin  always  Nannie  woo? 

And  Nannie  still  on  Robin  frown?     #    ; 
Alas,  poor  wretch!  what  shall  I  do, 

If  Nannie  does  not  love  me  soon? 
If  no  relief  to  me  she'll  bring, 
I'll  hang  me  in  her  apron  string. 

Hamilton. 

50.  I'm  jealous  o'  what  blesses  her, 
The  very  breeze  that  kisses  her, 

The  flowery  beds 
On  which  she  treads, 
Though  wae  for  ane  that  misses  her. 

James  Hogg. 


• 

itfpt  arc  pit  entente  tnraare  Da  t 


§  WHISTLE,  and  I'll  come  to  you,  my  lad; 
0,  whistle,  and  I'll  come  to  you,  my  lad; 
Tho'  father,  and  mother,  and  a'  should  gae  mad, 
0,  whistle  and  I'll  come  to  you,  my  lad. 

Bruce. 

2.  0,  Sandy  is  a  braw  lad, 

An'  Sandy  is  a  fine, 
An'  Sandy  is  a  bonnie  lad, 
An'  best  of  a',  he's  mine ! 

Hetherington. 


3.  Gae,  get  you  gone,  you  cauldrife  wooer, 
Ye  sour-looking,  cauldrife  wooer  1 


Herd. 


4.  I  ha'e  a  wooer  o'  my  ain, 

They  ca'  him  souple  Sandy, 
And  weel  I  wat  his  bonnie  mou' 

Is  sweet  like  sugar-candy. 

Old  Scotch  Song. 


24  fSftt  3U&J'*  ©rad*. 


5.  For  all  the  gold  and  all  the  gear, 
And  all  the  lands,  both  far  and  near, 
That  ever  valour  lost  or  won, 
I  will  not  wed  the  Earlie's  son. 

Scott. 


' 

*        ^^  •  i 


6.  Amazed  was  the  laird  when  the  lady  said,  Na^ 
And  wi'  a  laigh  curtsie  she  turned  awa'. 

Miss  Ferrier. 

"       f 

7.  I  read  thy  letters  sent  from  far, 

And  aft  I  kiss  thy  name, 
And  ask  my  Maker,  frae  the  war 
If  ever  thou'lt  come  hame,  Willie. 

Wilson. 

8.  Sae  lichtfs  he  jumped  up  the  stair, 

And  tirled  at  the  pin; 
And  wha  sae  ready  as  hersel' 
To  let  the  laddie  in! 

Old  Jacobite  Song. 

9.  For  the  sake  of  somebody, 

For  the  sake  of  somebody, 

I  could  wake  a  winter  nicht, 

For  the  sake  of  somebody. 

Ramsay. 

\f .'  " '  •  ' 

10.  But  blythely  will  I  bide 
Whate'er  may  yet  betide, 
When  ane  is  by  my  side. 

Smibert. 


©tatle.  25 


11.  Maggie  cuist  her  head  fu'  heich, 
Looked  asklant,  and  unco  skeigh, 
While  puir  Duncan  stood  abeigh  — 

Ha,  ha,-the  wooing  o't. 

fc^  Sums. 

" 

12.  But  old  Rob  Morris  I  never  will  ha'e, 

His  back  is  so  stiff,  and  his  beard  is  grown  gray; 
I  had  rather  die  than  live  wi'  him  a  year  ; 
Sae  mair  o'  Rob  Morris  I  never  will  hear. 

Ramsay. 

13.  The  maiden  blushed  and  bing'd  fu'  law, 
She  hadna  will  to  say  him  na, 

But  to  her  daddy  she  left  it  a', 

As  they  twa  cou'd  agree. 

Ramsay. 

14.  My  minnie  does  constantly  warn  me, 

And  bids  me  beware  o'  young  men; 
They  flatter,  she  says,  to  deceive  me  — 
But  wha  can  think  sae  o'  Tarn  Glen? 

Burns. 

15.  Houtawa'I  I  winna  ha'e  him! 

Na,  forsooth,  I  winna  ha'e  him  I 
For  a'  his  beard  new-shaven, 

Ne'er  a  bit  o'  me  will  ha'e  him. 

Ramsay. 

16.  When  day,  expiring  in  the  west, 
The  curtain  draws  o'  Nature's  rest, 
I'll  flee  to  his  arms  I  lo'e  best, 

And  that's  my  dainty  Davie. 

• 
3 


26  ©Ijt  lass's  ©ra*U. 

17.  And  though  ye  vowed  ye  wad  be  mine, 

The  tear  o'  grief  aye  dims  my  e'e, 
For,  0 !  I'm  feared  that  I  may  tyne 
The  love  that  ye  ha'e  promis'd  me ! 

Tannahill. 

18.  My  father  has  baith  gowd  and  gear, 

For  by  a  bonnie  mailen  free: 
My  mither  spins  wi'  eident  care, 

An'  dochtors  they  ha'e  nane  but  me. 
But  what  care  I  for  gowd  and  gear, 

Or  what  care  I  for  mailens  free? 
I  wadna  gi'e  a  bonnie  lad 

For  a'  the  gowd  in  Chrisendie. 

W.  Paul. 

19.  0  come,  my  love,  the  branches  link 

Above  our  bed  of  blossoms  new, 
The  stars  behind  their  curtains  wink, 

To  spare  thine  eyes  so  soft  and  blue. 
No  human  eye  nor  heavenly  gem, 

With  envious  smile,  our  bliss  shall  see ; 
The  mountain  ash  his  diadem 

Shall  spread  to  shield  the  dews  from  thee. 

James  Hogg. 

20.  0,  how  can  I  be  blithe  and  glad, 

Or  how  can  I  gang  brisk  and  braw, 
When  the  bonnie  lad  that  I  lo'e  best 
Is  o'er  the  hills  and  far  awa'? 

Burns. 


I 


©tacit.  27 


21.  His  words  sae  sweet  gaed  to  my  heart, 
And  fain  I  wad  ha'e  gi'en  my  ban'. 

Hamilton. 

22.  Were  I  young  for  thee,  as  I  ha'e  been, 

We  should  ha'e  been  gallopin'  down  on  yon  green, 
And  linkin'  it  on  yon  lilie-white  lea; 
And  wow!  gin  I  were  but  young  for  thee! 

Home. 

23.  He's  on  the  seas  to  meet  his  foe! 
Let  me  wander,  let  me  rove, 
Still  my  heart  is  with  my  love; 
Nightly  dreams  and  thoughts  by  day 

Are  with  him  that's  far  away. 

Burns. 

24.  My  head  is  like  to  rend,  Willie, 

My  heart  is  like  to  break  — 
I'm  wearin'  aff  my  feet,  Willie, 

I'm  dyin'  for  your  sake! 

Moiherwell. 

25.  But,  gin  you  really  do  insist 
That  I  should  suffer  to  be  kiss'd, 
Gae,  get  a  license  frae  the  priest, 

And  mak'  me  yours  before  folk. 

Rodger. 

26.  Ye've  heard  o'  my  tocher  in  gear  an'  good  brass, 
An'  ye  ken  that  ilk  pound  gi'es  a  charm  to  a  lass; 
But  if  pounds  be  my  beauties,  your  love's  unco 

chill; 
Lad!  I'll  awa'  hame  to  my  mither,  I  will. 

Rodger. 


28 


27.  I've  lo'ed  thee  o'er  truly  to  seek  a  new  dearie, 
I've  lo'ed  thee  o'er  fondly,  through  life  e'er  to  weary, 
I've  lo'ed  thee  o'er  lang,  love,  at  last  to  deceive  thee: 
Look  cauldly  or  kindly,  but  bid  me  not  leave  thee." 

Macgregor. 

28.  Never  wedding,  ever  wooing, 
Still  a  love-torn  heart  pursuing; 
Read  you  not  the  wrongs  you're  doing, 

In  my  cheek's  pale  hue? 
All  my  life  with  sorrow  strewing, 
Wed—  or  cease  to  woo. 

Campbell. 

29.  Love  is  timid,  Love  is  shy, 
Can  you  tell  me,  tell  me  why? 

Ah!  tell  me,  why  true  love  should  be 

Afraid  to  meet  the  kindly  smile 
Of  him  she  loves,  from  him  would  flee, 

Yet  thinks  upon  him  all  the  while? 

Weir. 

30.  Somebody's  words  are  wonderfu'  words, 

They're  wonderfu'  words  to  hear; 
Somebody's  words  can  lighten  the  heart, 

Or  fill  the  e'e  wi'  a  tear. 
They  may  say's  they  like,  they  may  do's  they  like, 

An'  somebody  I  may  tine; 
But  I'll  live's  I  am,  an'  I'll  die's  I  am, 

If  somebody  mayna  be  mine. 

Gibson. 


©ratle. 


29 


31.  Young  Donald  is  the  blithest  lad 

That  e'er  made  love  to  me ; 
Whene'er  he's  by  my  heart  is  glad, 
He  seems  so  gay  and  free. 


32.  Tarn  I  esteem,  like  him  there's  few, 
His  gait  and  looks  entice  me. 


33.  Thou  canst  love  another  jo, 

While  my  heart  is  breaking: 
Soon  my  weary  e'en  I'll  close, 
Never  more  to  waken,  Jamie. 


Anon. 


Lochore. 


Burns. 


34.  Never,  Henry,  could  I  leave  thee, 

Never  could  this  heart  deceive  thee; 
Why  then,  laddie,  me  forsake, 
And  sae  wi'  cruel  absence  grieve  me? 

Stirrat. 

35.  I  swear  and  vow  that  only  thou 

Shall  ever  be  my  dearie. 

Only  thou,  I  swear  and  vow, 

Shall  ever  be  my  dearie. 


Burns. 


36.  She  said,  If  that  your  heart  be  true, 

If  constantly  you'll  love  me, 
I  heed  not  care  nor  fortune's  frowns, 
For  naught  but  death  shall  move  me. 


TyU&r. 


30  Q[fc.e  ialrj'jff  ©ml*. 


37.  0!  if  we  lasses  could  but  gang 

And  woo  the  lads  we  like, 
I'd  run  to  thee,  my  Johnny  dear, 
Ne'er  stop  at  bog  or  dyke. 

38.  0  tell  na  me  of  wind  and  rain, 
Upbraid  na  me  wi'  cauld  disdain! 
Gae  back  the  gait  ye  cam'  again; 

I  winna  let  you  in,  jo. 


Anon. 


Anon. 


39.  How  ardently  my  bosom  glows 

Wi'  love  to  thee,  my  dearie,  0! 
My  panting  heart  its  passion  shows, 

Whenever  thou  art  near  me,  0. 

Tool. 

40.  But  I'm  blithe  that  my  heart's  my  ain, 

And  I'll  keep  it  a'  my  life, 
Until  that  I  meet  wi'  a  lad 

Who  has  sense  to  wed  a  good  wife. 

Herd. 

41.  Robin  is  my  only  jo, 
Robin  has  the  art  to  lo'e, 

So  to  his  suit  I  mean  to  bow, 
Because  I  ken  he  lo'es  me. 

Herd. 

42.  A  mutual  flame  inspires  us  both, 

The  tender  look,  the  melting  kiss : 
Even  years  shall  ne'er  destroy  our  love, 
But  only  gi'e  us  change  o'  bliss. 

Lapraik. 


Wtt  ia&2'5  ©ratlt.  81 

43.  He  shall  nae  say  that  time  has  changed 

The  passion  I  ha'e  joy'd  to  feel, 
Nor  that  ae  thought  has  been  estranged 
Frae  ane  whom  I  ha'e  lo'ed  sae  weel. 

Van  DyTc. 

44.  Oh  sooner  shall  the  rose  of  May 

Mistake  her  own  sweet  nightingale, 
And  to  some  meaner  minstrel's  lay 

Open  her  bosom's  glowing  veil, 
Than  Love  shall  ever  doubt  a  tone, 
A  breath,  of  the  beloved  one ! 

Moore. 

45.  How  the  best  charms  of  nature  improve 
When  we  see  them  reflected  from  looks  that  we  love ! 

Moore. 

46.  When  once  the  young  heart  of  a  maiden  is  stolen, 
The  maiden  herself  will  steal  after  it  soon. 

Moore. 

47.  No !  let  the  eagle  change  his  plume, 
The  leaf  its  hue,  the  flower  its  bloom; 
But  ties  around  this  heart  once  spun, 
They  cannot,  will  not,  be  undone. 

Campbell. 

48.  And  those  who  once  have  loved  the  most, 
Too  soon  forget  they  loved  at  all. 

Byron* 


32  gtljt  fca&s'jer  ©ratl*. 


49.  A  slight  blush,  a  soft  tremor,  a  calm  kind 

Of  gentle  feminine  delight,  and  shown 
More  in  the  eyelids  than  the  eyes,  resigned 

Rather  to  his  what  pleases,  most  unknown, 
Are  the  best  tokens  to  a  modest  mind 

Of  Love,  when  seated  on  his  loveliest  throne, 
A  sincere  woman's  heart. 

Byron. 

50.  The  shaken  tree  grows  faster  at  the  root; 

And  Love  grows  firmer  for  some  blasts  of  doubt. 

Carcanet. 


Stesrrik  tju  f  ratml  Ippwrimrc  nf  ijirar 


a  (Gentleman. 


I^ER  yellow  hair,  beyond  compare, 

Comes  trinkling  down  her  swan-white  neck; 
And  her  two  eyes,  like  stars  in  skies, 
Would  keep  a  sinking  ship  frae  wreck. 

Burns. 

2.  Her  poutin'  lips  sae  rosy  red 

'Mong  laughin'  dimples  dwell ; 
Nae  journey-work  were  they,  I  trow, 

But  made  by  love  himsel'. 
Her  voice  was  like  a  linty's  sang, 

Her  een  were  bonnie  blue, 
And  mine  drank  in  the  livin'  light 

That  sparkled  through  the  dew. 


3.  She  is  a  winsome  wee  thing, 
She  is  a  handsome  wee  thing, 
She  is  a  bonnie  wee  thing, 
This  sweet  wee  wife  o'  mine. 


Lotto. 


Burns. 

23 


34  &?)£  Irttnj'*  ©ratlt. 


4.  Her  neck  was  o'  the  snaw-drap  hue, 
Her  lips  like  roses  wet  wi'  dew: 
But  oh !  her  e'e,  o'  azure  blue, 

Was  past  expressin'  bonnie,  0. 

Nicholson. 

5.  A  fairer  face  I  may  have  seen, 

And  passed  it  lightly  by ; 
Louisa's  in  her  tartan  sheen 
Has  fixed  my  wandering  eye. 

Charles  Gray. 

6.  When  teddin'  out  the  hay, 

Bareheaded  on  the  green, 

Love  mid  her  locks  did  play, 

And  wantoned  in  her  een. 

Ramsay. 

7.  Her  eyes  divine  more  bright  did  shine 

Than  the  most  clear  unclouded  ether; 
A  fairer  form  did  ne'er  adorn 

A  brighter  scene  than  blooming  heather. 

.  Lewis. 

8.  Her  brow  was  like  a  lily  flower, 
Smiling  'neath  a  balmy  bower, 
An'  glistening  i'  the  mornin'  hour 

Amang  the  dew  o'  May. 
Her  e'e  was  like  the  bonnie  bell, 
That  dances  on  a  sparklin'  well, 
When  daylight  fa's  o'er  muir  an'  fell, 

An'  wakes  the  well  to  play. 

Macdonald. 


®f).e  laic's  ©ml*.  35 

9.  Oh  Nancy's  hair  is  yellow  like  gowd, 
An'  her  een,  like  the  lift,  are  blue; 
Her  face  is  the  image  o'  heavenly  love, 
An'  her  heart  is  leal  and  true. 

Old  Scotch  Song. 

10.  I  saw,  while  gazing  on  her  face, 

The  rose  and  lily  close  allied; 
And  on  each  bloomin'  cheek  could  trace 

The  scented  apple's  sunny  side. 
Her  lips  were  like  the  red-rose  bud, 

Before  the  sun  has  sipped  its  dew; 
Her  bosom  like  the  snawy  cloud 

Reflected  in  the  loch  sae  blue. 

Carmiehad. 

11.  Ah  no!  her  form's  too  heavenly  fair, 
Her  love  the  gods  above  must  share ; 
While  mortals  with  despair  explore  her, 
And  at  distance  due  adore  her. 

Ramsay. 

12.  Her  look  was  like  the  morning's  eye, 

Her  air  like  nature's  vernal  smile ; 
Perfection  whispered,  passing  by, 
Behold  the  lass  o'  Ballochmyle! 

Alexander. 

13.  Grace  was  in  all  her  steps,  heaven  in  her  eye, 
In  every  gesture  dignity  and  love. 

Milton's  Paradise  Lost. 


36  ®$t  3lalrj'a  ©rwlt. 

14.  Oh!  she  has  beauty  might  ensnare 

A  conqueror's  soul,  and  make  him  tear  his  crown 
At  random,  to  be  scuffled  for  by  slaves. 

Otway's  Orphan. 

15.  Yet  graceful  ease,  and  sweetness  void  of  pride, 
Might  hide  her  faults,  if  belles  had  faults  to  hide; 
If  to  her  share  some  female  errors  fall, 

Look  on  her  face  and  you'll  forget  'em  all. 

Pope's  Rape  of  the  Lock. 

16.  What  tender  force,  what  dignity  divine, 
What  virtue  consecrating  every  feature! 
Around  that  neck  what  dross  are  gold  and  pearl! 

Young's  Busiris. 

17.  She  was  a  form  of  life  and  light, 
That,  seen,  became  a  part  of  sight; 
And  rose,  where'er  I  turned  mine  eye, 

The  morning-star  of  memory. 

Byron's  Giaour. 

18.  Her  modest  looks  the  cottage  might  adorn, 
Sweet  as  the  primrose  peeps  beneath  the  thorn. 

Goldsmith. 

19.  The  parting  lip, 
Like  the  red  rosebud,  moist  with  morning  dew, 

Breathing  delight. 

Thomson. 

20.  She  had  a  woman's  mouth  with  all  its  pearls  complete ; 
And  for  her  eyes,  what  could  such  eyes  do  there, 
But  weep,  and  weep,  that  they  were  born  so  fair? 

Keats. 


'js  ©ml*. 


87 


21.  Two  of  the  fairest  stars  in  all  the  heaven, 
Having  some  business,  do  entreat  her  eyes 
To  twinkle  in  their  spheres  till  they  return. 

Shakspeare. 

22.  I  see  thee  graceful,  straight,  and  tall, 

I  see  thee  sweet  and  bonnie  ; 
But,  ohi!  what  will  my  torments  be, 
If  thou  refuse  thy  Johnnie  ! 


23.  My  love  is  like  the  red,  red  rose, 

That's  newly  sprung  in  June: 
Oh !  my  love's  like  the  melody 
That's  sweetly  played  in  tune. 

24.  Wi'  eager  look  upon  a  book, 

You'll  aft  see  lady  Ann, 

Wi'  jetty  locks,  an'  lily  neck 

Bent  like  a  stately  swan. 


Burns. 


Burns. 


Holmes. 


25.  Oh!  was  she  but  as  true  as  fair, 
'Twad  put  an  end  to  my  despair; 
Instead  of  that,  she  is  unkind, 
And  wavers  like  the  winter  wind. 

Jockey  and  Jenny. 

26.  Her  hair  is  the  wing  o'  the  blackbird, 

Her  eye  is  the  eye  o'  the  dove, 
Her  lips  are  the  ripe  blushing  rose-bud, 
Her  bosom's  the  palace  of  love. 

Robert  Burns,  Jr. 


38  gfljjt  3U&j'js  ©rwle. 

27.  As  bonnie  lasses  I  ha'e  seen, 

And  mony  full  as  braw, 
But  for  a  modest  gracefu'  mien 
The  like  I  never  saw. 

Burns. 

28.  Her  eyes'  dark  charm  'twere  vain  to  tell, 
But  gaze  on  that  of  the  gazelle, 

It  will  assist  thy  fancy  well, 
As  large,  as  languishingly  dark, 
But  soul  beamed  forth  in  every  spark. 

Byron. 

29.  Her  glossy  hair  was  clustered  o'er  a  brow 

Bright  with  intelligence,  and  fair  and  smooth; 
Her  eyebrow's  shape  was  like  the  aerial  bow, 

Her  cheek  all  purple  with  the  beam  of  youth, 
Mounting  at  times  to  a  transparent  glow, 

As  if  her  veins  ran  lightning;  she,  in  sooth, 
Possessed  an  air  and  grace  by  no  means  common: 
Her  stature  tall — I  hate  a  dumpy  woman. 

Byron. 

30.  Here,  I  can  trace  the  locks  of  gold, 

Which  round  thy  snowy  forehead  wave ; 
The  cheeks,  which  sprung  from  Beauty's  mould, 

The  lips,  which  made  me  Beauty's  slave. 
Here,  I  can  trace ah  no !  that  eye, 

Whose  azure  floats  in  liquid  fire, 
Must  all  the  painter's  art  defy, 

And  bid  him  from  the  task  retire. 

Byron. 


'S  ©ml*. 


31.  There  was  an  Irish  lady,  to  whose  bust 

I  ne'er  saw  justice  done,  and  yet  she  was 
A  frequent  model ;  and  if  e'er  she  must 

Yield  to  stern  Time  and  Nature's  wrinkling  laws, 
They  will  destroy  a  face  which  mortal  thought 
Ne'er  compassed,  nor  less  mortal  chisel  wrought. 

Byron. 

32.  That  form,  with  eye  so  dark,  and  cheek  so  fair, 
And  auburn  waves  of  gemmed  and  braided  hair; 
With  shape  of  fairy  lightness. 

Byron. 

33.  Thy  cheek  is  o'  the  rose's  hue, 

My  only  jo  and  dearie,  0; 
Thy  neck  is  o'  the  siller  dew 

Upon  the  bank  sae  brierie,  0. 
Thy  teeth  are  o'  the  ivory ; 
0  sweet's  the  twinkle  o'  thine  e'e : 
Nae  joy,  nae  pleasure,  blinks  on  me, 

My  only  jo  and  dearie,  0. 

Gall. 

34.  I  wat  he  ga'e  her  monie  a  kiss, 
And  Maggie  took  them  nae  amiss : 
'Tween  ilka  smack  pleased  her  wi'  this, 

That  Bess  was  but  a  gawkie. 

Muirhead. 

35.  Sae  flaxen  were  her  ringlets, 

Her  eyebrows  of  a  darker  hue, 
Bewitchingly  o'erarching 

Twa  laughing  een  o'  bonnie  blue. 

Bums. 


40  3H)t  3U&2'js  ©ratte. 


36.  Nelly's  gawsy,  saft  and  gay, 
Fresh  as  the  lucken  flowers  in  May; 
Ilk  ane  that  sees  her,  cries,  Ah  hey, 

She's  bonny !  0  I  wonder  at  her. 
The  dimples  of  her  chin  and  cheek, 

And  limbs  sae  plump  invite  to  dawt  her ; 
Her  lips  sae  sweet,  and  skin  sae  sleek, 

Make  many  mouths  beside  mine  water. 

Ramsay. 

37.  Our  Girzy  was  now  thirty-six, 

Though  some  rather  mair  did  her  ca'; 
And  ane  quite  sae  auld  to  get  married 

Has  little  or  nae  chance  ava. 
And  Girzy,  aft  thinking  on  this, 

Lang  sighs  frae  her  bosom  wad  draw; 
Oh,  is  it  not  awful  to  think 

I  may  not  be  married  ava ! 

Anon. 

38.  Miss  Bridget  Adair  lived  up  one  pair  of  stairs, 

In  a  street  leading  out  of  Soho; 
And  though  lovely  and  fair,  had  seen  thirty  years, 
Without  being  blest  with  a  beau. 

Old  Song. 

39.  Colour  and  shape,  fair  limbs  and  face, 

Sweetness  and  wit  in  all  you'll  find ; 
In  motion,  speech,  in  voice,  in  grace, 
A  model  here  of  woman-kind ! 

Cherry. 


5la&2's  ©ml*.  41 


40.  Her  beauteous  cheek  discloses 

The  lily  of  the  spring,       * 
The  vermeil  tint  of  roses, 

And  down  of  cygnet's  wing; 
Her  envious  lid,  while  sleeping 

Concealed  her  azure  eye; 
Her  silken  lashes  sweeping 

Her  cheek  of  varied  dye. 

Sullivan. 

41.  Do  not  my  eyes,  when  I  gaze  on  each  feature, 

Express  all  the  transport  that  reigns  in  my  soul! 
Yes,  they  avow  that  I  sigh  for  a  creature 
Created  by  heaven  each  thought  to  control. 

Ireland. 

42.  Neat  Nelly,  the  milk-maid,  in  short-waisted  gown, 

All  the  airs  of  the  fashion  puts  on; 
And  emulates  all  the  fine  ladies  in  town, 

As  she  flirts  and  coquettes  it  with  John; 
Has  the  same  vapid  stare,  the  same  slide,  the  same  bob, 

The  same  sigh,  without  feeling  or  passion; 
With  the  same  rise  and  fall  bids  her  bosom  to  throb, 

As  the  rantipole  woman  of  fashion. 

Dibdin. 

43.  Her  chin's,  sure,  a  long  one,  all  garnished  with 

bristles, 
And,  whenever  you  kiss  her,  they  scratch  you  like 

thistles ; 

Her  head  a  Dutch  cheese  is,  her  face  a  Dutch  clock's, 
Her  ringlets  are  carrots — Och!  no,  they  are  golden 

locks. 

Beuler. 

4* 


42  f&fa  HUfoj's  ©ml*. 

44.  Oh!  there  are  looks  and  tones  that  dart 
An  instant  sunshine  through  the  heart ; 
As  if  the  soul  that  minute  caught 

Some  treasure  it  through  life  had  sought; 
As  if  the  very  lips  and  eyes, 
Predestined  to  have  all  our  sighs, 
And  never  be  forgot  again, 
Sparkled  and  spoke  before  us  then. 

Moore. 

45.  The  rose  of  the  valley 

Her  modest  head  bowed, 
Though  loveliest,  seeking 

Her  beauties  to  shroud, 
Beneath  the  dew  bending, 

That  clung  to  the  flower, 
Like  Beauty,  desponding, 

In  Misery's  hour. 

Evans. 

46.  Her  eyes  are  so  black,  'pon  my  soul,  I'm  no  joker, 
As  two  holes  in  a  blanket,  that's  burnt  with  a  poker; 
And,  as  for  their  brightness,  I'll  tell  you  what's  more,- 
They're  like  two  scalded  gooseberries  stuck  in  a  door. 

The  Irish  Beauty. 

47.  When  jetty  locks  are  turned  to  gray, 

That  formed  such  charms  for  lovers'  hearts; 
When  eyes  are  dim,  and  scarce  can  see, 

That  beamed  such  fires,  and  threw  such  darts. 
'Tis  vain  the  killing  art  to  try, 
The  golden  moments  are  gone  by. 

Wblcot. 


9Df)£  la&s's  ©racle.  43 

48.  The  beautiful  tints  which  thy  features  adorn 

I  contrast  with  the  colours  of  art; 
And  exult  that  in  Nature's  low  valley  was  born 
My  Anna,  the  pride  of  my  heart. 

Old  Song. 

49.  Oh !  the  witchery  that  lurks  in  Fanny's  dark  eye ! 

Such  a  peculiar  tendency  shows ! 
That  'twere  the  sex-hater  only,  when  she  was  nigh, 
Could  subdue  fond  desire  as  it  rose ! 

L.  W.  K. 

50.  Her  unbound  tresses  curling  flowed, 

And  wantoned  with  the  zephyr ; 
Her  cheeks  with  modest  crimson  glowed, 

'Twas  Nature  altogether! 
Her  sparkling  eyes  were  sunbeams  bright, 

Her  wit  the  scourge  of  folly ! 
Her  smile  was  day,  her  frown  dark  night; 

Love's  queen  on  earth  was  Dolly. 

Old  Song. 


Iteito  t(j?  fflmnl  Ipurmra  nf  lim 
nti  te. 


Ensfomir  5s  a 


fXAMINE  every  several  lineament, 
And  see  how  one  another  lends  content ; 
And  what  obscured  in  this  fair  volume  lies, 
•  Find  written  in  the  margin  of  his  eyes. 
This  precious  book  of  love,  this  unbound  lover, 
To  beautify  him,  only  lacks  a  cover. 

Shakspeare. 

2.  The  first  of  my  lovers  was  a  swaggering  blade, 
To  rattle  the  thundering  drum  was  his  trade ; 
His  leg  was  so  tight  and  his  cheek  was  so  ruddy, 
Transported  I  was  with  my  soger  laddie. 

Burns. 

3.  He  had  an  English  look;  that  is,  was  square 

In  make,  of  a  complexion  white  and  ruddy, 
Good  teeth,  with  curling  rather  dark-brown  hair, 

And,  it  might  be  from  thought,  or  toil,  or  study, 
An  open  brow  a  little  marked  with  care. 

Byron. 
44 


'js  ©ml*.  45 


4.  See  what  a  grace  was  seated  on  his  brow: 
Hyperion's  curls ;  the  front  of  Jove  himself; 
An  eye  like  Mars,  to  threaten  and  command; 
A  station,  like  the  herald  Mercury, 
New-lighted  on  a  heaven-kissing  hill; 

A  combination,  and  a  form,  indeed, 
Where  every  god  did  seem  to  set  his  seal, 
To  give  the  world  assurance  of  a  man. 

Shakspeare. 

5.  No  haughty  gesture  marks  his  gait, 

No  pompous  tone  his  word, 
No  studied  attitude  is  seen, 
No  palling  nonsense  heard. 

Eliza  Cook. 

6.  His  high  broad  forehead,  marble  fair, 

Told  of  the  power  of  thought  within; 
And  strength  was  in  his  raven  hair — 
But  when  he  smiled,  a  spell  was  there 

That  more  than  strength  or  power  could  win. 
Mrs.  Bale's  Vigil  of  Love. 

7.  The  seal  of  truth  is  on  thy  gallant  form, 
For  none  but  cowards  lie. 

Murphy's  Alonzo. 

8.  How  many  cowards,  whose  hearts  are  all  as  false 
As  stairs  of  sand,  wear  upon  their  chins 

The  beards  of  Hercules,  and  frowning  Mars, 
Who,  inward  search' d,  have  livers  white  as  milk? 

Shakspeare. 


46  $!)«  •Lass's  ©rade. 

9.  'Twas  pretty,  though  a  plague, 

To  see  him  every  hour;  to  sit  and  draw 

His  arched  brows,  his  hawking  eye,  his  curls, 

In  our  heart's  table. 

Shakspeare. 

10.  His  wig  was  weel  pouther'd,  as  good  as  when  new, 
His  waistcoat  was  white,  his  coat  it  was  blue ; 

He  put  on  a  ring,  a  sword,  and  cocked  hat — 
And  who  could  refuse  the  Laird  wi'  a'  that? 

Miss  Ferrier. 

11.  His  features,  pale,  and  beautiful 

As  those  of  the  old  statues,  and  with  much 
Of  the  ideal  tenderness  that  breathed 
Around  the  marble,  till  it  rivalled  life — 
Yet  with  a  latent  sternness,  lurking  still 
About  the  august  high  forehead,  and  the  lip, 
And  the  fine  sweeping  profile,  that  recalled 
Yet  more  a  statue's  strong  similitude. 

Sisters  of  the  West. 

12.  I  saw  in  the  morn  the  reaper  bold — 

The  reaper  of  the  plain, 
Above  his  brow  were  locks  of  gold, 

The  hue  of  the  ripened  grain;  9 

His  eye  was  as  blue  as  the  sky  that  threw 

Its  light  on  his  waving  field, 
And  his  voice  was  soft  as  the  winds  that  blew 

To  make  the  harvest  yield. 

Sisters  of  the  West. 


SJjje  3U&2'*  ©ml*.  47 

13.  I  know  not  why  I  loved  that  man, 

More  than  a  guiding  star; 
His  frame  was  worn,  his  cheek  was  wan, 
And  marked  by  sun  and  scar. 

Sisters  of  the  West. 

14.  The  expectancy  and  rose  of  the  fair  state, 
The  glass  of  fashion,  and  the  mould  of  form — 
The  observed  of  all  observers ! 

Shakspeare. 

15.  And  even  now  I  see  him  by  my  side, 
Stately  as  princes  should  be ;  with  those  eyes, 
Boundless  and  deep  as  the  unfathomed  skies, 
Gazing  on  me,  with  flashing  orbs  of  pride. 

Sisters  of  the  West. 

16.  That  brow  all  calm  and  high; 
That  dark  and  radiant  eye; 

That  raven  hair,  in  its  rich  glossy  fold ; 

That  smile,  whose  radiant  beams 

Were  like  the  rainbow  gleams, 
Lighting  a  sky  that  else  were  dark  and  cold. 
Sisters  of  the  West. 

17.  Oh !  thou  art  strangely  altered !  and  thy  face 

With  the  deep  lines  of  care  and  wo  all  fraught; 
And  even  the  channel  of  thy  tears  we  trace, 

And  on  thy  brow  the  scathing  work  of  thought! 
Sisters  of  the  West. 

18.  His  proud  eye  wears  the  eagle's  look ; 

His  cap,  the  eagle's  plume; — 

Sisters  of  the  West. 


48  gcfre  lairds  ©ml*. 

.19.  Tall,  slenderly,  yet  nobly  formed;  endowed 
With  grace,  and  gentleness,  and  stately  ease; 
Sisters  of  the  West. 

20.  Don't  think  that  I  chose 
My  love  for  his  nose, 

Cheeks  cherry,  or  peepers  blue; 

But  truly  I  sees,  a  maiden  to  please, 
A  certain  something  in  you. 

Old  Song. 

21.  He's  tall  and  he's  straight  as  the  poplar-tree, 

His  cheeks  are  as  fresh  as  the  rose ; 
He  looks  like  a  squire  of  high  degree, 
"When  drest  in  his  Sunday  clothes. 

Mrs.  Brooke. 

22.  And  then  he  had  good  looks ;  that  point  was  carried 

Nem.  con.  amongst  the  women. 

Byron. 

23.  His  tender  smiles,  love's  day-dawn  on  his  lips! 
That  spiritual  and  almost  heavenly  light 

In  his  commanding  eye — his  mien  heroic, 
Virtue's  own  native  heraldry ! 

Coleridge. 

24.  He  looked  very  like  a  tea-kettle, 
He  looked  very  like  a  tea-kettle, 
But  he  couldn't  sing  half  so  well. 

Manager  Strut. 


'»  ©rwle.  49 


25.  The  empty  coxcomb  which  you  chose, 

Just  like  the  flower  of  day, 
Shook  by  each  wind  that  folly  blows, 
Seems  born  to  flutter  and  decay. 

Dibdin. 

26.  Spanking  Jack  was  so  comely,  so  pleasant,  so  jolly, 
Though  winds  blew  great  guns,  still  he'd  whistle 

and  sing. 

Dibdin. 

27.  Anxiety  for  thee,  love, 

Has  marked  my  brow  with  care, 
The  heart  once  blithe  and  free,  love, 
Lives  a  victim  to  despair. 

Westmacott. 

28.  Sighed  she,  "I  love  this  officer,  although  his  nose 

is  red, 

And  his  legs  are  what  his  regiment  call  bandy,  ohl" 

Colman. 

29.  A  Dandy  is  like,  who  can  say 
What  a  Dandy  is  like,  who  can  say? 

Old  Song. 

30.  Then  I  put  on  my  whiskers,  mustachios,  and  wig, 
And  waistcoat  adorned  with  a  lavender-sprig; 
With  rings  on  my  fingers,  and  patch  on  my  chin, 
I  walked  through  the  streets  with  a  beautiful  grin: 

I  was  scented  with  musk  and  with  roses, 
And  smelt  like  a  bundle  of  posies, 
The  passengers  sniffed  up  their  noses, 
And  cried,  "What  a  beautiful  man  \" 

Beuter. 
6 


50 


31.  Though  a  barber  has  never  yet  mowed  my  chin, 
With  my  great  broad  sword  I  long  to  begin. 

O'Keefe. 

32.  He  was,  to  weet,  a  little  roguish  page, 

Save  sleep  and  play  who  minded  naught  at  all, 
Like  most  the  untaught  striplings  of  his  age. 

Thomson. 

33.  Straight  from  the  filth  of  this  low  grub,  behold! 
Conies  fluttering  forth  a  gaudy  spendthrift  heir, 
All  glossy  gay,  enamelled  all  with  gold. 

The  silly  tenant  of  the  summer  air, 
In  folly  lost,  of  nothing  takes  he  care. 

Thomson. 

34.  There  was  a  man  of  special  grave  remark; 
A  certain  tender  gloom  o'erspread  his  face, 
Pensive,  not  sad;  in  thought  involved,  not  dark. 

Thomson. 

35.  A  joyous  youth,  who  took  you  at  first  sight; 
Him  the  wild  wave  of  pleasure  hither  drove, 
Before  the  sprightly  tempest-tossing  light: 
Certes,  he  was  a  most  engaging  wight. 

Thomson. 

36.  Of  feature  stern,  Selvaggio  well  yclep'd, 

A  rough,  unpolished  man,  robust  and  bold. 

Thomson. 


®ratle.  51 


37.  He  crept  along,  unpromising  of  mien. 
Gross  he  "who  judges  so.    His  soul  was  fair, 
Bright  as  the  children  of  yon  azure  sheen  ! 
True  comeliness,  which  nothing  can  impair, 

Dwells  in  the  mind:  all  else  is  vanity  and  glare. 

Thomson. 

38.  Of  morbid  hue  his  features,  sunk  and  sad; 
His  hollow  eyne  shook  forth  a  sickly  light, 
And  o'er  his  lank  jawbone,  in  piteous  plight, 
His  black  rough  beard  was  matted  rank  and  vile. 

Thomson. 

39.  Mislike  me  not  for  my  complexion, 

The  shadowed  livery  of  the  burnished  sun, 
To  whom  I  am  a  neighbour,  and  near  bred. 

Shakspeare. 

40.  Thou  art  too  wild,  too  rude,  and  bold  of  voice;  — 
Parts  that  become  thee  happily  enough, 

And  in  such  eyes  as  ours  appear  not  faults  : 

But  where  thou  art  not  known,  why,  there  they  show 

Something  too  liberal. 

Shakspeare. 

41.  So  are  those  crisped  snaky  golden  locks, 
Which  make  such  wanton  gambols  with  the  wind, 
Upon  supposed  fairness,  often  known 

To  be  the  dowry  of  a  second  head, 

The  skull  that  bred  them  in  the  sepulchre. 

Shakspeare. 


62  ®|)< 


42.  'Tis  not  your  inky  brows,  your  black-silk  hair, 
Your  bugle  eyeballs,  nor  your  cheek  of  cream, 
That  can  entame  my  spirits  to  your  worship. 

Shakspeare. 

43.  Not  very  pretty: — 

But,  sure,  he's  proud ;  and  yet  his  pride  becomes  him : 
He'll  make  a  proper  man:  The  best  thing  in  him 
Is  his  complexion. 

Shakspeare. 

44.  And  high  top  bald  with  dry  antiquity, 

A  wretched  ragged  man,  o'ergrown  with  hair. 

Shakspeare. 

45.  A  traitor  you  do  look  like;  but  such  traitors 

His  majesty  seldom  fears. 

Shakspeare. 

46.  Dear  lad,  believe  it; 
For  they  shall  yet  belie  thy  happy  years, 
That  say,  thou  art  a  man:  Diana's  lip 

Is  not  more  smooth,  and  rubious ;  thy  small  pipe 
Is  as  the  maiden's  organ,  shrill  and  sound, 
And  all  is  semblative  a  woman's  part. 

Shakspeare. 

47.  In  voices  well  divulged,  free,  learned,  and  valiant; 
And,  in  dimension,  and  the  shape  of  nature, 

A  gracious  person. 

Shakspeare, 

48.  Thy  tongue,  thy  face,  thy  limbs,  actions,  and  spirit, 
Do  give  thee  five-fold  blazon. 

Shakspeare. 


's  ©radf.  53 


49.  0,  what  a  deal  of  scorn  looks  beautiful 
In  the  contempt  and  anger  of  his  lipl 

ShaJcspeare. 

50.  Your  face,  my  thane,  is  as  a  book,  where  men 
May  read  strange  matters:  —  To  beguile  the  time, 
Look  like  the  time;  bear  welcome  in  your  eye, 
Your  hand,  your  tongue:  look  like  the  innocent 

flower, 
But  be  the  serpent  under  it. 

Shakspeare. 


is  tjp 


of  qirar  Mq- 


ILD  as  the  infant  rose,  and  innocent 
As  when  Heaven  lent  her  us.    Her  mind  as  well 
As  face,  is  yet  a  paradise  untainted 
With  blemishes,  or  the  spreading  weeds  of  vice. 
Robert  Baron's  Mirza. 


2.  Accomplishments  were  native  to  her  mind, 

Like  precious  pearls  within  a  clasping  shell, 
And  winning  grace  her  every  act  refined, 

Like  sunshine  shedding  beauty  where  it  fell.  • 

Mrs.  Hale. 

3.  She  glares  in  balls,  front  boxes,  and  the  ring, 
A  vain,  unquiet,  glittering,  wretched  thing! 
Pride,  pomp,  and  state  but  reach  her  outward  part; 
She  sighs,  —  and  is  no  duchess  at  her  heart. 

Pope. 

4.  Devoted,  anxious,  generous,  void  of  guile, 

And  with  her  whole  heart's  welcome  in  her  smile. 

Mrs.  Norton. 

64 


Qftt  i,a&2'js  ©ratlt.  65 

5.  Within  the  oyster's  shell  uncouth 

The  purest  pearl  may  hide: — 
Trust  me  you'll  find  a  heart  of  truth 
Within  that  rough  outside. 

Mrs.  Osgood. 

6.  She  has  a  glowing  heart,  they  say, 

Though  calm  her  seeming  be ; 
And  oft  that  warm  heart's  lovely  play 
Upon  her  cheek  I  see. 

Mrs.  Osgood. 

7.  Not  soon  provoked,  however  stung  and  teased, 
And,  if  perhaps  made  angry,  soon  appeased ; 
She  rather  waives  than  will  dispute  her  right, 
And,  injured,  makes  forgiveness  her  delight. 

Cowper's  Cliarity. 

8.  Beneath  the  cares  of  earth  she  does  not  bow, 

Though  she  hath  ofttimes  drained  its  bitter  cup ; 
But  ever  wanders  on  with  heavenward  brow, 
And  eyes  whose  lovely  orbs  are  lifted  up ! 

Mrs.  Wdby. 

9.  Self-flattered,  unexperienced,  high  in  hope. 

Young. 

10.  Shall  it  not  be  scorn  to  me 

To  harp  on  such  a  mouldered  string? 
I  am  shamed  thrbugh  all  my  nature 
To  have  loved  so  slight  a  thing. 

Tennyson. 


56  Qftt  3U&2'*  ©ml*. 

11.  Leave  her  to  Heaven, 
And  to  those  thorns  that  in  her  bosom  lodge, 
To  prick  and  sting  her. 

Shakspeare. 

12.  Her  poverty  was  glad;  her  heart  content, 

Nor  knew  she  what  the  spleen  or  vapours  meant. 

Dryden. 

13.  With  every  pleasing,  every  prudent  part, 

Say,  "what  can  Chloe  want?" — she  wants  a  heart. 
She  speaks,  behaves,  and  acts  just  as  she  ought; 
But  never,  never  reach'd  one  generous  thought. 

Pope. 

14.  She  is  a  woman,  therefore  may  be  wooed : 
She  is  a  woman,  therefore  may  be  won. 

Shakspeare. 

15.  She,  proud  to  rule,  yet  strangely  framed  to  tease, 
Neglects  his  offers  while  her  airs  she  plays, 
Shoots  scornful  glances  from  the  bended  frown, 
In  brisk  disorder  trips  it  up  and  down. 

Parnell. 

16.  Like  a  lovely  tree 

She  grew  to  womanhood,  and  between  whiles 
Rejected  several  suitors,  just  to  learn 
How  to  accept  a  better  in  his  turn. 

Byron. 

17.  0  serpent  heart,  hid  with  a  flowering  face ! 
Did  ever  dragon  keep  so  fair  a  cave? 

Shakspeare. 


®!).e  lalJ^'a  ©ratU.  57 


18.  She  is  peevish,  sullen,  froward, 
Proud,  disobedient,  stubborn,  lacking  duty. 

Shakspeare. 

19.  In  her  youth 
There  is  a  prone  and  speechless  dialect, 

Such  as  moves  men ;  besides  she  hath  prosperous  art, 
When  she  will  play  with  reason  and  discourse, 
And  well  she  can  persuade. 

Shakspeare. 

20.  And  if  she  hapt  of  any  good  to  heare, 

That  had  to  any  happily  betid, 
Then  would  she  inly  fret,  and  grieve,  and  teare 
Her  flesh  for  felnesse,  which  she  inward  hid. 

Spenser. 

21.  Ah!  doomed  indeed  to  worse  than  death, 

To  teach  those  sweet  lips  hourly  guile; 
To  breathe  through  life  but  falsehood's  breath, 
And  smile  with  falsehood's  smile ! 

Mrs.  Osgood. 

22.  She  is  as  constant  as  the  stars 
That  never  vary,  and  more  chaste  than  they. 

Proctor. 

23.  You  are  too  busy,  and  too  stirring,  to 
Be  put  in  action ;  your  curiosity 
Would  do  as  much  harm  in  a  kingdom,  aa 

A  monkey  in  a  glass  shop ;  move,  and  remove, 
Till  you  had  broken  all.  > 

CartwrigM. 


68  Stf)*  la&s's  ©ml*. 


24.  I  have  ease,  and  I  have  health, 

And  I  have  spirits  light  as  air; 
And  more  than  wisdom,  more  than  wealth  — 
A  merry  heart  that  laughs  at  care. 

H.  H.  Milman. 

25.  The  meek  mountain  daisy,  with  delicate  crest, 
And  the  violet  whose  eye  told  the  heaven  of  her 

breast. 

Mrs.  Sigourney. 

26.  Your  heart 

Is  crammed  with  arrogancy,  spleen,  and  pride. 

Shakspeare. 

27.  The  dust  on  the  blossom, 

The  spray  on  the  sea  — 
Ay,  ask  thine  own  bosom  — 

Are  emblems  of  thee. 

Miss  Landon. 

28.  Her  manners,  by  the  world  refined, 
Left  all  the  taint  of  modish  vice  behind, 

And  made  each  charm  of  polished  courts  agree 
With  candid  truth's  simplicity. 

Lyttteton. 

29.  Hadst  thou  seen 
How  in  each  motion  her  most  innocent  soul 
Beamed  forth  and  brightened,  thou  thyself  wouldst 

tell  me, 
Guilt  is  a  thing  impossible  in  her! 

Coleridge. 


©rack.  69 


30.  All  fancy  sick  she  is,  and  pale  of  cheer 

With  sighs  of  love. 

Shakspeare. 

31.  Desires  composed,  affections  ever  even; 

Tears  that  delight,  and  sighs  that  waft  to  heaven: 
Grace  shines  around  her  with  serenest  beams, 
And  whispering  angels  prompt  her  golden  dreams. 

Pope. 

32.  Dorinda's  sparkling  wit  and  eyes 

United  cast  too  fierce  a  light;  ^ft 
Which  blazes  high,  but  quickly  dies, 
Pains  not  the  heart,  but  hurts  the  sight. 

*  Earl  of  Dorset. 

33.  Seraph  of  heaven!  too  gentle  to  be  human, 
Veiling  beneath  that  radiant  form  of  woman 
All  that  is  insupportable  in  thee 

Of  light,  and  love,  and  immortality  ! 

Shdky. 

34.  A  shadow  of  some  golden  dream;  a  Splendor 
Leaving  the  third  sphere  pilotless  ;  a  tender 
Reflection  of  the  eternal  Moon  of  Love, 
Under  whose  motions  life's  dull  billows  move  ; 
A  Metaphor  of  Spring  and  Youth  and  Morning; 
A  Vision  like  incarnate  April,  warning, 

With  smiles  and  tears,  Frost  the  Anatomy 
Into  his  summer  grave. 

Shelley. 


60  Sfl)*  3Utrs'js  ©mie. 

35.  In  many  mortal  forms  I  rashly  sought 
The  shadow  of  that  idol  of  my  thought. 
And  some  were  fair — but  beauty  dies  away: 
Others  were  wise — but  honied  words  betray: 
And  one  was  true. 

Shelley. 

36.  And  underneath  that  face,  like  summer's  ocean's, 

Its  lip  as  moveless,  and  its  cheek  as  clear, 
Slumbers  a  whirlwind  of  the  heart's  emotions, 
Love,  hatred,  pride,  hope,  sorrow — all  save  fear. 

Halleck. 

37.  Nature  has^ist  me  in  so  soft  a  mould, 

That  but  to  hear ^  story,  feigned  for  pleasure, 
Of  some  sad  lovers  death,  moistens  my  eyes. 

Dryden. 

38.  Each  witchery  of  soul  and  sense, 
Enshrined  in  angel  innocence, 
Combined  to  frame  the^atal  spell — 

That  blest — and  broke  my  heart — Farewell! 

*.,     Pringle. 

39.  Around  her  shone 
The  light  of  love,  the  purity  of  grace, 

The  mind,  the  music  breathing  from  her  face ; 
The  heart  whose  softness  harmonized  the  whole. 

Byron. 

40.  Thou  turn'st  mine  eyes  into  my  very  soul, 
And  there  I  see  such  black  and  grained  spots, 
As  will  not  leave  their  tinct. 

Shakspeare 


's  ©r«I*.  61 


41.  A  delicate,  frail  thing,  —  but  made 
For  spring  sunshine,  or  summer  shade. 
A  slender  flower,  unmeet  to  bear 

One  April  shower,  —  so  slight,  so  fair. 

Miss  Landon. 

42.  Though  time  thy  bloom  is  stealing, 

There's  still  beyond  his  art 
The  wild-flower  wreath  of  feeling, 
The  sunbeam  of  the  heart. 

Halkck. 


43.  Sincerity's  my  chief  delight, 
The  darling  pleasure  of  the  mind. 

•  Lady  ChudleigTi. 

44.  Wine  may  indeed  excite  the  meekest  dame; 
But  keen  Xantippe,  scorning  borrowed  flame, 
Cant  vent  her  thunders,  and  her  lightnings  play, 
O'er  cooling  gruel  and  composing  tea. 

Young. 

45.  Thy  talk  is  the  sweet  extract  of  all  speech, 
And  holds  mine  ear  in  blissful  slavery. 

Bailey. 

46.  Priestess  of  falsehood  —  deeply  learned 
In  all  heart-treachery! 

Sara  J.  Clarke. 

47.  Thy  likeness,  thy  fit  help,  thy  other  self, 
Thy  wish  exactly  to  thy  heart's  desire. 

MiUon. 

6 


62  8tj)<  BU&s'js  ©rade. 


48.  All  day,  like  some  sweet  bird,  content  to  sing 
In  its  small  cage,  she  moveth  to  and  fro — 
And  ever  and  anon  will  upward  spring 

To  her  sweet  lips,  fresh  from  the  fount  below, 
The  murmured  melody  of  pleasant  thought, 
Light  household  duties,  evermore  inwrought. 
Mrs.  E.  Oakes  Smith. 

49.  'Tis  beauty  that  doth  oft  make  women  proud: 
But,  God  he  knows,  thy  share  thereof  is  small: 
'Tis  virtue  that  doth  make  them  most  admired; 
The  contrary  doth  make  thee  wondered  at. 

Shakspeare. 

50.  I  am  a  woman!  nay,  a  woman  wronged  1 
And  when  our  sex  from  injuries  take  fire, 
Our  softness  turns  to  fury — and  our  thoughts 
Breathe  vengeance  and  destruction. 

Savage. 


is  tjrj  Cljarartn:  nf  Him  ipra  to? 


was  a  man  of  a  strange  temperament, 
Of  mild  demeanour,  though  of  savage  mood, 
Moderate  in  all  his  habits,  and  content 
With  temperance  in  pleasure  as  in  food, 
Quick  to  perceive,  and  strong  to  bear,  and  meant 
For  something  better,  if  not  wholly  good; 
His  country's  wrongs  and  his  despair  to  save  her 
Had  stung  him  from  a  slave  to  an  enslaver. 

Byron. 

2.  Old  king  Coul  was  a  jolly  old  soul, 

And  a  jolly  old  soul  was  he; 
And  old  king  Coul  he  had  a  brown  bowl, 
And  they  brought  him  in  fiddlers  three. 

Old  Song. 

3.  The  friend  of  man,  the  friend  of  truth, 
The  friend  of  age,  and  guide  of  youth; 
Few  hearts  like  his  with  virtue  warmed, 
Few  heads  with  knowledge  so  informed. 

Burns. 

63 


64  f&lt  SU&s's  ©ml*. 


4.  His  nature  is  too  noble  for  the  world: 

He  would  not  flatter  Neptune  for  his  trident, 

Or  Jove  for  his  power  to  thunder.    His  heart's  his 

mouth: 

What  his  breast  forges,  that  his  tongue  must  vent  ; 
And,  being  angry,  does  forget  that  ever 
He  heard  the  name  of  death. 

Shakspeare. 

5.  He  hath  a  tear  for  pity,  and  a  hand 
Open  as  day,  for  melting  charity:   „ 

Yet,  notwithstanding,  being  incensed,  he's  flint; 
As  humorous  as  winter,  and  as  sudden 
As  flaws  congealed  in  the  spring  of  day. 

Shakspeare. 

6.  Trust  not  a  man:  we  are  by  nature  false, 
Dissembling,  subtle,  cruel,  and  inconstant; 
When  a  man  talks  of  love,  with  caution  hear  him, 
But  if  he  swears  he'll  certainly  deceive  thee. 

Otway. 

jp* 

7.  When  all  thy  mountains  clap  their  hands  in  joy, 
And  all  thy  cataracts  thunder  —  "  That's  the  boy  1" 

O.  W.  Holmes. 

8.  It  is  too  full  o'  the  milk  of  human  kindness 

To  catch  the  nearest  way;  thou  wouldst  be  great; 

Art  not  without  ambition  ;  but  without 

The  illness  should  attend  it:   what  thou  wouldst 

highly, 

That  wouldst  thou  holily:  wouldst  not  play  false, 
And  yet  wouldst  wrongly  win. 

Shakspeare. 


'js  ©ml*.  65 


9.  The  churl  who  holds  its  heresy  to  think, 
Who  loves  no  music  but  the  dollar's  clink, 
Who  laughs  to  scorn  the  wisdom  of  the  schools, 
And  deems  the  first  of  poets  first  of  fools. 

Sprague. 

10.  Not  all  the  pumice  of  the  polished  town 

Can  smooth  the  roughness  of  the  barnyard  clown  ; 
Rich,  honoured,  titled,  he  betrays  his  race 
By  this  one  mark  —  he's  awkward  in  his  face. 

0.  W.  Holmes. 

11.  An  honest  mind  and  plain,  —  he  must  speak  truth; 
An  they  will  take  it,  HO;  if  not,  he's  plain. 

These  kind  of  knaves  I  know,  which  in  this  plain- 

ness 

Harbour  more  craft,  and  far  corrupter  ends, 
Than  twenty  silly  ducking  observants, 
That  stretch  their  duty  nicely. 

Shakspeare. 

12.  A  mad-cap  ruffian,  and  a  swearing  jack, 
That  thinks  with  oaths  to  face  the  matter  out. 

Shakspeare. 

13.  I'd  rather  be  a  dog,  and  bay  the  moon, 
Than  such  a  Roman. 

Shakspeare. 

14.  He'll  suit  his  bearing  to  the  hour, 

Laugh,  listen,  learn,  or  teach, 
With  joyous  freedom  in  his  mirth 
And  candour  in  his  speech. 

Eliza  Cook. 


66  Qfot  Blairs'*  ©ml*. 


15.  "When  better  cherries  are  not  to  be  had, 

We  needs  must  take  the  seeming  best  of  bad. 

Daniel. 

16.  Drawn  by  conceit  from  reason's  plan, 
How  vain  is  that  poor  creature,  man ! 
How  pleased  is  every  paltry  elf 

To  prate  about  that  thing,  himself. 

Churchill. 

17.  I  am  constant  as  the  northern  star ; 

Of  whose  true,  fixed,  and  resting  quality 
There  is  no  fellow  in  the  firmament. 

Shakspeare. 

18.  Go,  prick  thy  face,  and  over-red  thy  fear, 
Thou  lily-livered  boy.    What  soldiers,  patch? 
Death  of  thy  soul,  those  linen  cheeks  of  thine 

Are  counsellors  to  fear.     What  soldiers,  whey-face? 

Shakspeare. 

19.  This  is  he, 
That  kissed  his  hand  away  in  courtesy; 
This  is  the  ape  of  form,  Monsieur  the  nice, 
That  when  he  plays  at  tables,  chides  the  dice 

In  honourable  terms. 

Shakspeare. 

20.  The  over  curious  are  not  over  wise. 

Massinger. 

21.  Much  had  he  read, 
Much  more  had  seen:  he  studied  from  the  life, 
And  in  the  original  perused  mankind. 

Armstrong. 


®fj.e  la&s's  ©ml*.  67 

22.  The  ghost  of  many  a  veteran  bill 

Shall  hover  around  his  slumbers. 

0.  W.  Holmes. 

23.  The  politic,  the  factious  fool, 

The  busy,  buzzing,  talking,  hardened  knave; 
The  quaint  smooth  rogue,  that  sins  against  his  reason, 
Calls  saucy  loud  sedition  public  zeal: 
And  mutiny  the  dictates  of  his  spirit. 

Otway. 

24.  If  at  home,  sir, 
He's  all  my  exercise,  my  mirth,  my  matter: 
Now  my  sworn  friend,  and  then  mine  enemy: 
My  parasite,  my  soldier,  statesman,  all. 

Shakspeare. 

25.  Behold!  his  breakfasts  shine  with  reputation! 
His  dinners  are  the  wonder  of  the  nation ! 

With  these  he  treats  both  commoners  and  quality, 
Who  praise,  where'er  they  go,  his  hospitality. 

Wolcot. 

26.  His  words  are  bonds,  his  oaths  are  oracles ; 
His  love  sincere,  his  thoughts  immaculate; 
His  tears  pure  messengers  sent  from  his  heart ; 
His  heart  as  far  from  fraud  as  heaven  and  earth. 

Shakspeare. 

27.  His  fiery  temper  brooks  not  opposition, 
And  must  be  met  with  soft  and  supple  arts, 
With  crouching  courtesy,  and  honied  words, 
Such  as  assuage  the  fierce,  and  bend  the  strong. 

Rowe. 


68  i&lt  SUUj'js  ©racli. 

28.  Nothing  exceeds  in  ridicule,  no  doubt, 
A  fool  in  fashion,  but  a  fool  that's  out; 
His  passion  for  absurdity's  so  strong, 
He  cannot  bear  a  rival  in  the  wrong. 

Young. 

29.  Lord  Angelo  is  precise ; 
Stands  at  a  guard  with  envy;  scarce  confesses 
That  his  blood  flows,  that  his  appetite 

Is  more  to  bread  than  stone. 

Shakspeare. 

30.  She  hath  sealed  thee  for  herself:  for  thou  hast  been 
As  one,  in  suffering  all,  that  suffers  nothing; 

A  man,  that  fortune's  buffets  and  rewards 
Hast  ta'en  with  equal  thanks. 

Shakspeare. 

31.  They  say  that  he  has  genius.    I  but  see 

That  he  gets  wisdom  as  the  flower  gets  hue, 
While  others  hive  it  like  the  toiling  bee; 

That  with  him  all  things  beautiful  keep  new. 

Willis. 

32.  He  is  a  noble  gentleman ;  withal 
Happy  in's  endeavours:  the  general  voice 
Sounds  him  for  courtesy,  behaviour,  language, 
And  every  fair  demeanour,  an  example. 

John  Ford. 

33.  Fat  paunches  have  lean  pates ;  and  dainty  bits 
Make  rich  the  ribs,  but  bankrupt  quite  the  wits. 

Shakspeare. 


'jS  ©rart*.  69 


34.  God  gave  him  reverence  of  laws, 

Yet  stirring  blood  in  freedom's  cause  — 

A  spirit  to  the  rocks  akin, 

The  eye  of  the  hawk  and  the  fire  therein. 

Coleridge. 

35.  I  know  thee  for  a  man  of  many  thoughts, 
And  deeds  of  good  and  ill,  extreme  in  both 
Fatal  and  fated  in  thy  sufferings. 

Byron. 

36.  His  honour's  linked 
Unto  his  life  ;  he  that  will  seek  the  one 
Must  venture  for  the  other  or  lose  both. 

Tatham. 

37.  My  master  is  of  churlish  disposition, 
And  little  recks  to  find  the  way  to  heaven 
By  doing  deeds  of  hospitality. 

Shdkspeare. 

38.  A  villain  with  a  smiling  cheek: 

A  goodly  apple,  rotten  at  the  heart: 

0,  what  a  goodly  outside  falsehood  hath  ! 

SJiakspeare. 

39.  From  worldly  cares  himself  he  did  esloin, 
And  greatly  shunned  manly  exercise  ; 
From  every  work  he  challenged  essoin, 
For  contemplation'  sake.         v 

Spenser. 


70  g;})*  3La&s'js  ©ml*. 


40.  He  that  has  but  impudence, 

To  all  things  has  a  fair  pretence; 
And  put  among  his  wants  but  shame, 
To  all  the  world  may  lay  his  claim. 

Butler. 

41.  He  hath  a  person,  and  a  smooth  dispose, 

To  be  suspected;  framed  to  make  women  false. 

Shakspeare. 

42.  He  cannot  e'en  essay  to  walk  sedate, 
But  in  his  very  gait  one  sees  a  jest, 
That's  ready  to  break  out  in  spite  of  all 
His  seeming. 

KnowUs. 

43.  A  man  of  law,  a  man  of  peace, 
To  frame  a  contract  or  a  lease. 

Crabbe. 

44.  This  fellow's  of  exceeding  honesty, 

And  knows  all  qualities,  with  a  learned  spirit, 
Of  human  things. 

Shakspeare. 

45.  Merit  like  his,  the  fortune  of  the  mind, 
Beggars  all  wealth. 

Thomson. 

46.  I  pity  bashful  men,  who  feel  the  pain 
Of  fancied  scorn  and  undeserved  disdain, 
And  bear  the  marks  upon  a  blushing  face 
Of  needless  shame  and  self-imposed  disgrace. 

Cowper. 


71 


47.  I  do  remember  an  apothecary,  — 

And  hereabouts  he  dwells,  —  whom  late  I  noted 
In  tattered  weeds,  with  overwhelming  brows, 
Culling  of  simples  ;  meagre  were  his  looks, 
Sharp  misery  had  worn  him  to  the  bones. 

Shakspeare. 

48.  My  purse  is  very  slim,  and  very  few 

The  acres  that  I  number  ; 
But  I  am  seldom  stupid,  never  blue  ; 
My  riches  are  an  honest  heart  and  true, 

And  quiet  slumber. 

Epes  Sargent. 

49.  'Tis  much  he  dares; 
And,  to  that  dauntless  temper  of  his  mind, 
He  hath  a  wisdom  that  doth  guide  his  valour 
To  act  in  safety. 

Shakspeare. 

50.  Ah  !  sly  deceiver  ;  branded  o'er  and  o'er, 
Yet  still  believed!  exulting  o'er  the  wreck 
Of  sober  vows. 

Armstrong. 


qimr 


65  a  (Ktntltman. 


HY  do  you  keep  alone, 
Of  sorriest  fancies  your  companions  making  ; 
Using  those  thoughts,  which  should  indeed 

have  died 
With  them  they  think  on? 

Shakspeare. 


2.  Nor  the  sail  high  heaving  waters  o'er, 

Nor  the  rural  dance  on  the  moonlight  shore,  — 
Can  the  wild  and  fearless  joy  exceed 
Of  a  fearless  leap  on  a  fiery  steed. 

Sara  J.  Clarke. 

3.  Lived  in  his  saddle,  loved  the  chase,  the  course, 
And  always,  e'er  he  mounted,  kissed  his  horse. 

Cowper. 

4.  Unhappy  man  !  whom  sorrow  thus  and  rage 
To  different  ills  alternately  engage; 

Who  drinks,  alas  !  but  to  forget. 

Prior. 
72 


'a  ©ml«.  73 


5.  From  worldly  cares  himself  he  did  esloin, 
And  greatly  shunned  manly  exercise; 
From  every  work  he  challenged  essoin, 
For  contemplation'  sake. 

Spenser. 

6.  Come  and  trip  it  as  you  go, 
On  the  light  fantastic  toe, 

And  in  thy  right  hand  lead  with  thee 
The  mountain  nymph,  sweet  liberty. 

Milton. 

7.  I've  pored  o'er  many  a  yellow  page 
Of  ancient  wisdom,  and  have  won, 
Perchance,  a  scholar's  name. 

G.  W.Beihune. 

8.  Give  me  some  music  ;  music  moody  food 
For  us  that  trade  in  love. 

ShaJcspeare. 

9.  He  capers  nimbly  in  a  lady's  chamber, 
To  the  lascivious  pleasing  of  a  lute. 

Shakspeare. 

10.  Here  the  rude  clamour  of  the  sportman's  joy, 
The  gun  fast  thundering,  and  the  winded  horns, 
Would  tempt  the  muse  to  sing  the  rural  game. 

Thomson. 

11.  There  at  the  foot  of  yonder  nodding  beech, 
That  wreaths  its  old  fantastic  roots  so  high, 
His  listless  length  at  noontide  would  he  stretch, 
And  pore  upon  the  brook  that  bubbles  by. 

Gray. 


74  Qfot  3U&2'* 


12.  But  midst  the  crowd,  the  hum,  the  shock  of  men. 

Byron. 

13.  He  goes  to  the  river  side, — 

Nor  hook  nor  line  hath  he : 
He  stands  in  the  meadows  wide, — 
Nor  gun  nor  scythe  to  see. 

Ralph  W.  Emerson. 

14.  Shun  such  as  lounge  through  afternoons  and  eves, 
And  on  thy  dial  write — "Beware  of  "thieves!" 
Felon  of  minutes,  never  taught  to  feel 

The  worth  of  treasures  which  thy  fingers  steal. 

0.  W.  Holmes. 

15.  This  is  a  traveller,  sir;  knows  men  and  manners. 

Beaumont  and  Fletcher. 

16.  My  book  o'  grace  I'll  try  to  read, 

Though  conned  wi'  little  skill. 

Joanna  Baillie. 

17.  I  rather  would  entreat  thy  company, 
To  see  the  wonders  of  the  world  abroad, 
Than  living  dully  sluggardized  at  home. 

Shakspeare. 

18.  I've  trod  the  glittering  way 

Of  the  land  through,  and  lived  in  brightest  halls. 

G.  Melkn. 


®mle.  75 


19.  Why  I,  in  this  weak  piping  time  of  peace, 
Have  no  delight  to  pass  away  the  time; 
Unless  to  spy  my  shadow  in  the  sun. 

Shdkspeare. 

20.  Not  sleeping,  to  engross  his  idle  body, 
But  praying,  to  enrich  his  watchful  soul. 

Shakspeare. 

21.  To-night,  we'll  wander  through  the  streets,  and  note 
The  qualities  of  people. 

Shakspeare. 

22.  He  fishes,  drinks,  and  wastes 
The  lamps  of  night  in  revel. 

Shakspeare. 

23.  Let  the  world  heave  on  with  its  ocean-noise, 
I  ask  but  friends  and  home. 

G.  Melkn. 

24.  No  care,  no  stop  :  so  senseless  of  expense, 
That  he  will  neither  know  how  to  maintain  it, 
Nor  cease  his  flow  of  riot;  takes  no  account 

How  things  go  from  him. 

Shakspeare. 

25.  Breaks  scurril  jests  ; 
And  with  ridiculous  and  awkward  action 
("Which,  slanderer,  he  imitation  calls) 
He  pageants  us. 

Shakspeare. 


76  ®|j  ia&j'js  ©rwle. 


26.  I  veil  my  brow  from  this  dim  earth, 

And  dream  of  brighter  spheres; 
I  muse  by  my  forsaken  hearth 
Of  time  unmarked  by  years. 

Sisters  of  the  West. 

27.  Gazing  on  thy  blue  eyes,  and  tendril  hair; 
Here,  even  here,  my  spirit's  depths  unclosing, 
I'll  breathe  to  thee  the  tale  of  my  despair. 

Sisters  of  the  West. 

28.  We'll  watch  the  white  and  leaping  spray, 

Hurled  from  our  cleaving  prow; 

And  the  wild  breeze  shall  kiss  away 

The  soft  locks  from  each  brow. 

Sisters  of  the  West. 

29.  Oh!  love  like  mine  hath  lonely  dreams, 
And  clinging  doubts  and  fears. 

Sisters  oftJte  West. 

30.  And  thou  art  like  that  God-struck  man, 

Forever  wandering  on; 
Thy  spirit's  doom  is  weird  and  wan; 
Alone!  alone!  alone! 

Sisters  of  the  West. 

31.  Inspiring,  bold  John  Barleycorn! 
What  dangers  thou  canst  make  us  scorn. 

Burns. 

32.  Beneath  the  silver-gleaming  ray, 
To  mark  the  mutual  kindling  eye. 

Burns. 


'J5  ©ml*.  77 


33.  Would  you  be  a  man  of  fashion, 

Would  you  lead  a  life  divine, 
Take  a  little  dram  of  passion 
In  a  lusty  dose  of  wine. 

Anon. 

34.  The  fat  shining  glutton  looks  up  to  his  shelf. 

Garrick. 

35.  Oh!  sweet  'tis  to  list  to  the  nightingale's  note, 

Or  watch  the  moon  play  through  yon  bushes, 
Or  hark  to  the  sound  of  the  silver-toned  lute, 
Or  the  white  wave,  down  the  rough  steep  that 
gushes. 

Bruton. 

36.  He'll  drink  and  he'll  fight,  and  a  joke's  his  delight; 

Good  humour  attends  him. 

Beuler. 

37.  I  make  all  look  so  handsome,  so  charming  my 

trade  is, 
And  neatly  I  tickle  the  taste  of  the  ladies. 

Crow. 

38.  May  the  pedant  be  lost  in  his  phantom  pursuit, 
While  I  revel  in  wine,  and  with  bumpers  recruit; 
Since  the  wisest  can  never  perfection  attain, 
Why  should  life  proffer  sweets  and  enjoyments  in 

vain? 

Old  Song. 
7* 


78  ^t  Hafrj'a  ©mte. 

39.  To  the  woods  and  the  fields,  my  brave  boys,  haste 

away! 

Our  sport  is  to  follow  the  hare ; 
For  the  morning  is  clear,  and  delightfully  gay, 
Sure  nothing  with  this  can  compare ! 

Old  Song. 

40.  Electioneering,  privateering — 
Auctioneering,  volunteering. 

Old  Song. 

41.  I've  seen  some  balls  and  revels  in  my  time, 

And  staid  them  over  for  some  silly  reason, 
And  then  I  looked  (I  hope  it  was  no  crime) 
To  see  what  lady  best  stood  out  the  season. 

Byron. 

42.  Sermons  he  read,  and  lectures  he  endured, 

And  homilies,  and  lives  of  all  the  saints ; 
To  Jerome  and  to  Chrysostom  inured, 
He  did  not  take  such  studies  for  restraints. 

Byron. 

43.  He  pored  upon  the  leaves,  and  on  the  flowers, 

And  heard  &  voice  in  all  the  winds;  and  then 
He  thought  of  wood-nymphs  and  immortal  bowers, 
And  how  the  goddesses  came  down  to  men. 

Byron. 

44.  For  my  part,  I'm  a  moderate  minded  bard, 
Fond  of  a  little  love,  (which  I  call  leisure;) 
I  care  not  for  new  pleasures,  as  the  old 
Are  quite  enough  for  me,  so  they  but  hold. 

Byron. 


©mle.  *  79 


45.  Here  was  no  lack  of  innocent  diversion 

For  the  imagination  or  the  senses, 
Song,  dance,  wine,  music,  stories  from  the  Persian, 
All  pretty  pastime  in  which  no  ofience  is. 

Byron. 

46.  He  always  is  complaining  of  his  lot, 
Forsooth,  scarce  fit  for  ballads  in  the  street. 

Byron. 

47.  A  neat,  snug  study  on  a  winter's  night, 

A  book,  friend,  single  lady,  or  a  glass 
Of  claret,  sandwich,  and  an  appetite, 

Are  things  which  make  a  pleasant  evening  pass. 

Byron. 

48.  He  now  was  growing  up  like  a  green  tree,  able 
For  love,  war,  or  ambition,  which  reward 
Their  luckier  votaries,  till  old  age's  tedium 
Make  some  prefer  the  circulating  medium. 

Byron. 

49.  An  old  maid  of  threescore 

For  cats  and  birds  more  penchant  ne'er  displayed. 
Although  he  was  not  old,  nor  even  a  maid. 

Byron. 


Inm  im  pit  pa0s  put  fl 


Enstomir  Jj  a 


day  she  seeks  some  melancholy  shade, 
To  hide  her  sorrow  from  the  prying  world; 
At  night  she  watches  all  the  long,  long  hours, 
And  listens  to  the  winds  and  beating  rain, 
With  sighs  as  loud,  and  tears  that  fall  as  fast. 

Howe. 


2.  I  will  wash  my  ploughman's  hose, 

And  I  will  dress  his  o'erlay, 
I  will  make  my  ploughman's  bed, 
And  cheer  him  late  and  early. 


Burns. 


3.  But  we  maun  ha'e  linen,  and  that  maun  ha'e  we, 

And  how  get  we  that  but  by  spinnin'  o't? 
How  can  we  ha'e  face  for  to  seek  a  great  fee, 
Except  we  can  help  at  the  winnin'  o't? 

Ross. 

80 


©mle. 


4.  Wi'  love  and  mirth  and  social  glee 
We'll  still  keep  up  the  jovial  spree, 
While  time  on  wings  o'  joy  shall  flee. 


81 


Stirrat. 


5.  When  tired  wi'  her  cantraps,  she  lies  in  her  bed, 
The  wark  a'  neglecket,  the  house  ill  up-red, 
When  a'  our  guid  neighbours  are  stirring  right  early. 

Baillie. 

6.  The  dearest  enjoyments  of  home  are  there, 

The  chat  and  the  laugh  by  the  hearth's  cheering  glare, 
When  day  and  its  labours  are  done. 

Smibert. 


7.  Now  I  am  at  my  last  prayers, 

I  pray  on  baith  nicht  and  day ; 
And,  oh !  if  a  beggar  wad  come, 

With  that  same  beggar  I'd  gae. 
And,  oh!  and  what'll  come  o'  me? 

And,  oh!  and  what'll  I  do? 
That  sic  a  braw  lassie  as  I 

Should  die  for  a  wooer,  I  trow! 


8.  When  evening  brings  its  shady  hour 
Then  who  so  blithe  as  we? 

The  lamp  of  love  in  barn  and  bower 
Lights  up  a  scene  of  glee ; 

Old  Time  forgets  his  running  sand 
And  joins  our  roundelay. 


Ramsay. 


Macdonald. 


82  Qftt  la&j's  ©ml*. 

9.  Hale  books  I've  wrote,  both  prose  and  verse, 

And  many  a  rousing  dedication. 

Chambers'  Journal. 

10.  As  Jenny  sat  down  wi'  her  wheel  by  the  fire, 
An'  thought  o'  the  time  that  was  fast  fleein'  by'er, 
She  said  to  hersel'  wi'  a  heavy  hoch  hie, 

Oh!  a'  body's  like  to  be  married  but  me. 

Gray. 

11.  Tear  my  bright  hair,  and  scratch  my  praised  cheeks ; 
Crack  my  clear  voice  with  sobs  and  break  my  heart. 

Shakspeare. 

12.  I  must  not  think  of  him:  I'll  call 

Around  me  dance  and  song; 
Until  this  lone  dismantled  hall 
Shakes  with  the  motley  throng. 

Sisters  of  the  West. 

13.  I  love  those  legends,  gray 

With  venerable  years ; 
They  have  a  power  to  sway 
My  mood  to  smiles  and  tears. 

Sisters  of  the  West. 

14.  Touch  thou  this  lute, 

That,  o'er  land  and  sea, 
Its  chords,  though  mute, 
May  be  signs  of  thee. 

Sisters  of  the  West. 


ffitlt  3U&s'5  ©ml*.  83 

15.  Even  as  I  sit  and  dream  alone 

"Within  this  antique  hall, 
With  its  dim  echoing  floor  of  stone, 
Its  dark  empanelled  wall. 

Sisters  of  the  West. 

16.  In  the  hall 
I  was  the  light  of  the  festival ; 

Tell  him,  how  proudly  I  paced  the  dance — 
What  powers  I  bore  in  a  word  or  glance. 

Sisters  of  the  West. 

17.  Fast  wanes  the  heavy  time ; 
Past  is  the  summer's  prime ; 

Still  doth  the  lady  dream,  and  watch,  and  weep. 
Sisters  of  the  West. 

18.  That  song,  that  song  of  olden  time, 

I  fain  would  hear  again ; 
The  sweeping  tone,  the  measured  chime, 
And  now  the  pealing  strain. 

Sisters  of  the  West. 

19.  Oh!  while  across  mine  inner  sight 

This  tide  of  anguish  streams, 

My  life  is  but  a  darkened  night, 

And  full  of  mournful  dreams ! 

Sisters  of  the  West. 

20.  Oh !  often  in  the  quiet  night  she  sitteth, 

Shedding  wild  tears,  beside  the  winter  hearth ; 
While  o'er  her  face  the  uncertain  firelight  flitteth; 
Yet  darker  still  is  her  unmeaning  mirth. 

Sisters  of  the  West. 


84  8^*  i,a&j'5  ©rack. 


21.  In  vain  my  lyre  would  lightly  breathe 

The  smile  that  sorrow  fain  would  wear, 
But  mocks  the  wo  that  lurks  beneath, 
Like  roses,  o'er  a  sepulchre. 

Byron. 

22.  For  madam's  will  at  nothing  stops, 

She  must  have  balls,  and  routs,  and  fops, 
And  often  ransack  all  the  shops, 
In  gay  attire  to  robe  her. 

Dibdin. 

23.  Hence,  all  ye  vain  delights, 
As  short  as  are  the  nights 
Wherein  you  spend  your  folly! 

Beaumont  and  Fletcher. 

24.  I  feel  like  one  who  treads  alone 

Some  banquet-hall  deserted, 
Whose  lights  are  fled,  whose  garlands  dead, 
And  all  but  he  departed. 

T.  Moore. 

25.  She  strove  the  neighbourhood  to  please 

With  manners  wondrous  winning; 
And  never  followed  wicked  ways, 
Unless  when  she  was  sinning. 

Goldsmith. 

26.  Ye  that  are  basking  in  Pleasure's  gay  beam, 
Ye  that  are  sailing  on  Hope's  golden  stream, 

A  cloud  may  come  o'er  ye — a  wave  sweep  the  deck. 

Planche. 


'8  ©ratle.  85 


27.  Talking,  she  knew  not  why  and  cared  not  what, 
So  that  her  female  friends,  with  envy  broiling, 
Beheld  her  airs  and  triumph,  and  all  that. 

Byron. 

28.  Endearing  waltz — to  thy  more  melting  tune 
Bow,  Irish  jig,  and  ancient  rigadoon; 

Scotch  reels,  avaunt!  and  country-dance,  forego 
Your  future  claims  to  each  fantastic  toe. 

Byron. 

29.  She  kept  a  journal,  where  his  faults  were  noted; 
And  opened  certain  trunks  of  books  and  letters, 
All  which  might,  if  occasion  served,  be  quoted. 

Byron. 

30.  The  gentle  pressure,  and  the  thrilling  touch, 

The  least  glance  better  understood  than  words, 
Which  still  said  all,  and  ne'er  could  say  too  much; 
A  language,  too,  but  like  to  that  of  birds. 

Byron. 

31.  The  truth  is,  I've  grown  lately  rather  phthisical: 
I  don't  know  what  the  reason  is — the  air, 
Perhaps ;  but  as  I  suffer  from  the  shocks 

Of  illness,  I  grow  much  more  orthodox. 

Byron. 

32.  High  in  high  circles,  gentle  in  her  own, 

She  was  the  mild  reprover  of  the  young, 
Whenever — which  means  every  day — they'd  shown 
An  awkward  inclination  to  go  wrong. 

Byron. 


86 


33.  The  elderly  walked  through  the  library, 

And  tumbled  books,  or  criticised  the  pictures, 
Or  sauntered  through  the  gardens  piteously, 
And  made  upon  the  hothouse  several  strictures. 

Byron. 

34.  Observant  of  the  foibles  of  the  crowd, 
Yet  ne'er  betraying  this  in  conversation. 

Byron. 

35.  She  gazed  upon  a  world  she  scarcely  knew, 

As  seeking  not  to  know  it  ;  silent,  lone, 
As  grows  a  flower,  thus  quietly  she  grew, 
And  kept  her  heart  serene  within  its  zone. 

Byron. 

36.  Faults  which  attract  because  they  are  not  tame; 
Follies  tricked  out  so  brightly  that  they  blind:  — 
These  seals  upon  her  wax  made  no  impression, 
Such  was  her  coldness  or  her  self-possession. 

Byron. 

37.  Though  too  well-bred  to  quiz  men  to  their  faces, 

Her  laughing  blue  eyes  with  a  glance  could  seize 
The  ridicules  qf  people  in  all  places  — 

That  honey  of  your  fashionable  bees  — 
And  store  it  up  for  mischievous  enjoyment. 

Byron. 

38.  Much  on  my  early  youth  I  love  to  dwell, 
Ere  yet  I  bade  that  friendly  dome  farewell, 
Where  first,  beneath  the  echoing  cloisters  pale, 
I  heard  of  guilt  and  wondered  at  the  tale! 

Coleridge. 


'a  ©ratlt.  87 


39.  She  also  had  a  twilight  tinge  of  "Slue," 

Could  write  rhymes,  and  compose  more  than  she 

wrote; 

Made  epigrams  occasionally  too 
Upon  her  friends,  as  everybody  ought. 

Byron. 

40.  I'm  dull  and  sad!  indeed,  indeed, 

I  know  I  have  no  reason! 
Perhaps  I  am  not  well  in  health, 
And  'tis  a  gloomy  season. 

Coleridge. 

41.  When  by  herself,  she  to  herself 

Must  sing  some  merry  rhyme  ; 
She  could  not  now  be  glad  for  hours, 
Yet  silent  all  the  time. 

Coleridge. 

42.  Ye  ladies,  take  a  hint  from  me, 
Ne'er  with  the  bottle  make  too  free^ 

Until  you  safely  married  be. 

Old  Song. 

43.  Would  you  know  my  chief  delight? 
'Tis  to  enjoy  a  moonlight  night,  — 
To  sit  and  count  the  stars  above, 
And  talk,  to  one  that's  fair,  of  love. 

Bryant. 

44.  We  blush,  smile,  or  frown,  as  he's  right  or  he's  wrong, 
We  dance  when  we  please,  or  we  sing  him  a  song, 
And  before  we  are  wed,  if  we  feel  the  least  pique, 
We  can  then  hold  our  tongues,  if  we  like,  for  a  week. 

Bryant. 


88 


45.  I  never  could  discover 
Why  listening  to  a  lover, 

Throughout  the  livelong  day, 
Should  be  miscalled  offence; 
It  is  not  common  sense  — 

That's  all  I  say. 

Reynolds. 

46.  I  have  a  silent  sorrow  here, 

A  grief  I'll  ne'er  impart; 
It  breathes  no  sigh,  it  sheds  no  tear, 
But  it  consumes  my  heart. 

Sheridan. 

47.  No  more  by  sorrow  chased,  my  heart 

Shall  yield  to  fell  despair; 
Now  joy  repels  the  envenomed  dart, 
And  conquers  every  care. 

•«<•          Dibdin. 

48.  Though  deep  shades  delight  me,  yet  love  is  my  food; 

As  I  call  the  dear  name  of  my  Joe; 
His  musical  shout  is  the  pride  of  the  wood, 
And  my  heart  leaps  to  hear  the  hallo  ! 

r  Bloomfield. 

49.  Maiden,  once  gay  pleasure  knew  thee, 

Now  thy  cheeks  are  pale  and  deep  ; 
Love  has  been  a  felon  to  thee, 
Yet,  poor  maiden,  do  not  weep. 

H.  K.  White. 

50.  I'll  dress  and  I'll  strut  with  an  air, 
The  barber  shall  frizzle  my  hair. 

O'Keefe. 


nra[  in  qim  pfor? 


HE  sky  is  changed !  and  such  a  change !  oh,  night, 
And  storm,  and  darkness,  ye  are  wondrous  strong, 
Yet  lovely  in  your  strength,  as  is  the  light 
Of  a  dark  eye  in  woman !     Far  along, 
From  peak  to  peak,  the  rattling  crags  among, 
Leaps  the  live  thunder !  not  from  one  lone  cloud, 
But  every  mountain  now  hath  found  a  tongue, 
And  Juno  answers  through  her  misty  shroud 
Back  to  the  joyous  Alps,  who  call  to  her  aloud  1 

Byron. 

2.  Let  others  love  the  city, 

And  gaudy  show  at  sunny  noon; 
Gi'e  me  the  lonely  valley, 

The  dewy  eve,  and  rising  moon, 
Fair-beaming,  and  streaming, 

Her  silver  light  the  boughs  amang; 
While  falling,  recalling, 

The  amorous  thrush  concludes  her  sang. 

Burns. 
8*  SB 


90  9T5«  SU&S'JST  ©ml*. 

3.  Sweet  Auburn!  loveliest  village  of  the  plain, 
"Where  health  and  plenty  cheered  the  labouring  swain, 
Where  smiling  spring  its  earliest  visit  paid, 

And  parting  summer's  lingering  blooms  delayed. 

Goldsmith. 

4.  His  warm  but  simple  home,  where  he  enjoys 
With  her  who  shares  his  pleasure  and  his  heart, 

Sweet  converse. 

Cowper. 

5.  Night  on  the  waves!  and  the  moon  is  on  high, 
Hung  like  a  gem  on  the  brow  of  the  sky ; 
Treading  its  depths,  in  the  power  of  her  might, 
And  turning  the  clouds,  as  they  pass  her,  to  light. 

Hervey. 

6.  Above  me  are  the  Alps, 
The  palaces  of  nature,  whose  vast  walls 
Have  pinnacled  in  clouds  their  snowy  scalps, 
And  throned  eternity  in  icy  halls 

Of  cold  sublimity,  where  forms  and  falls 

The  avalanche — the  thunderbolt  of  snow! 

All  that  expands  the  spirit,  yet  appals, 

Gather  around  these  summits,  or  to  show 

How  earth  may  pierce  to  heaven,  yet  leave  vain  man 

below. 

Byron. 

7.  Brown  night  retires;  young  day  pours  in  apace, 
And  opens  all  the  lawny  prospect  wide. 

The  dripping  rock,  the  mountain's  misty  top, 
Swell  on  the  sight,  and  brighten  with  the  dawn. 

Thomson. 


Oft*  is&s'jsr  ©ratlt.  91 

8.  The  glorious  landscape  smiles  and  melts ; 
Green  wave-like  meadows  here  are  spread, 
There  woodland  shades  are  sweetly  shed, 
In  deepening  gold  there  glows  the  wheat, 
And  there  the  rye-field's  vying  sheet. 

Street. 

9.  Within  the  sunlit  forest, 

Our  roof  the  bright  blue  sky, 
Where  streamlets  flow,  and  wild  flowers  blow, 
We  lift  our  hearts  on  high. 

Elliott. 

f 

10.  'Tis  midnight:  on  the  mountain's  brown 
The  cold,  round  moon  shines  deeply  down; 
Blue  roll  the  waters,  blue  the  sky 
Spreads  like  an  ocean  hung  on  high. 

Byron. 

11.  The  sea!  the  sea!  the  open  sea! 
The  blue,  the  fresh,  the  ever  free! 
Without  a  mark,  without  a  bound, 

It  runneth  the  earth's  wide  regions  round. 

Proctor. 

12.  Oh!  a  blue  summer  night, 

When  the  stars  were  asleep, 

Like  gems  of  the  deep, 
In  their  own  drowsy  light; 

While  the  new-mown  hay 

On  the  green  earth  lay, 
And  all  that  came  near  it  went  scented  away. 

Neal. 


92 


13.  Welcome,  ye  shades!  ye  bowery  thickets,  hail  I 
Ye  lofty  pines  !     Ye  venerable  oaks  ! 

Ye  ashes  wild,  resounding  o'er  the  steep! 
Delicious  is  your  shelter  to  the  soul. 

TJiomson. 

14.  And  leads  me  to  the  mountain-brow, 
Where  sits  the  shepherd  on  the  grassy  turf, 
Inhaling,  healthful,  the  descending  sun. 
Around  him  feeds  his  many  bleating  flock, 
Of  various  cadence  ;  and  his  sportive  lambs, 
This  way  and  that  convolved,  in  friskful  glee, 
Their  frolics  play. 

Thomson. 

15.  Sweet  is  thy  coming  spring!  and,  as  I  pass 

Thy  hedge-rows,  where  from  the  half-naked  sprays 
Peeps  the  sweet  bud,  and  midst  the  dewy  grass 
The  tufted  primrose  opens  to  the  day: 
My  spirits  light  and  pure  confess  thy  power 

Of  balmiest  influence. 

Mhenceum. 

16.  The  tender  Twilight  with  a  crimson  cheek 
Leans  on  the  breast  of  Evening. 

How  tenderly  the  trembling  light  yet  plays 
On  the  far-waving  foliage  !  day's  last  blush 

Still  lingers  on  the  billowy  waste  of  leaves 
With  a  strange  beauty  —  like  the  yellow  flush 

That  haunts  the  ocean  when  the  day  goes  by. 

McLdlan. 


®f)je  SU&s'a  ©mle.  93 

17.  The  evening  sun's  gaen  down  the  west, 

The  birds  sit  nodding  on  the  tree; 

All  nature  now  prepares  for  rest. 

Tannahill. 

18.  Behold  the  hills  and  vales  around 
With  lowing  herds  and  flocks  abound; 
The  wanton  kids  and  frisking  lambs 

Gambol  and  dance  around  their  dams. 

Bryce. 

19.  This  shadowy  desert,  unfrequented  woods, 

I  better  brook  than  flourishing  peopled  towns. 

Shakspeare. 

20.  Above  that  dark,  romantic  stream 

Gray  rocka  and  gloomy  forests  tower, 
And  o'er  its  sullen  floods  the  dream 

Of  Lethe  seems  to  lower ; 
Low,  shadowed  by  its  frowning  steeps, 
The  deep  and  turbid  river  sweeps. 

Sisters  of  the  West. 

21.  "Within  a  southern  garden,  where  the  breath 
Of  flowers  went  up  like  incense,  and  the  plash 
Of  falling  fountains  made  a  murmuring  voice 

Of  music  sweet,  yet  same. 

Sisters  of  the  West. 

22.  Where  the  pale  flowers  grow  rank  and  wild,  . 

In  that  sequestered  solitude, 
Where  never  hath  the  sunshine  smiled, 
And  step  may  not  intrude. 

Sisters  of  the  West. 


94 


23.  Twilight's  soft  dews  steal  o'er  the  village-green, 
With  magic  tints  to  harmonize  the  scene. 
Stilled  is  the  hum  that  through  the  hamlet  broke, 
When  round  the  ruins  of  their  ancient  oak 

The  peasants  nocked  to  hear  the  minstrel  play, 
And  games  and  carols  closed  the  busy  day. 

Rogers. 

24.  The  festival  was  high  and  proud, 

The  lamps  were  dazzling  clear; 
And  pealing  music,  long  and  loud, 
Rushed  on  the  listening  ear. 

Sisters  of  the  West. 

25.  In  those  primeval  forests,  oh  !  did  the  red  deer  bound, 
Tossing  their  dark-brown  antlers  —  trampling  the 

new-made  ground? 

And  did  the  huge  bald  eagle  over  thy  waters  brood? 
Or  didst  thou,  new-born  giant,  track  one  vast  solitude  ? 
Sisters  of  the  West. 

26.  Oh!  let  me  go  abroad 
Into  the  breast  of  nature  ;  where  the  wind 

Makes  solemn  music  in  the  forest  tree  ; 
Swaying  the  old,  gray,  twisting  vines,  that  bind 
Branch  unto  branch  with  its  wild  minstrelsy. 
Sisters  of  the  West. 

27.  We  stand  upon  a  breezy  hill 

That  overhangs  the  deep  ; 
Beneath  our  feet  the  scant  grass  springs, 
Above  us  eagles  sweep. 

Sisters  of  the  West. 


©ratlt.  95 


28.  I  stood  on  the  lone  forest  side.     I  viewed 

The  wild  luxuriant  blossoms  at  my  feet  ; 
I  saw  around  me  stretch  the  giant  wood; 

I  watched  the  swift  deer,  bounding  wild  and  fleet. 
Sisters  of  the  West. 

29.  When  o'er  the  waves  the  lightnings  flash, 

And  many  a  gallant  bark  is  riven  ; 
And  solemnly  the  thunder's  crash 

Peals  from  the  darkened  face  of  heaven  ! 

Sisters  of  the  West. 

30.  And  oh  !  the  time  of  winter,  when  round  the  hearth 

by  night 
We  sat,  glad  little  children,  by  the  broad  red  fire 

light; 

Wild  and  stormy  stories  to  hear  with  young  amaze, 
Sisters  of  the  West. 

31.  Where  the  moonbeam  flieth 

O'er  the  lone  sea, 
There  a  sweet  voice  crieth, 
I  wait  for  thee! 

Sisters  of  the  West. 

32.  I  watch  their  deep  and  household  joy, 

Around  the  evening  hearth  ; 
When  the  children  stand  beside  each  knee, 
With  laugh  and  shout  of  mirth. 

Sisters  of  the  West. 

33.  The  crowded  mart,  the  lofty  hall, 
The  palace  and  the  bower. 

Sisters  of  the  West. 


96  ®lt  fca&s'js  ©ml*. 


34.  "Where  the  first  violets  their  fragrance  shed  ; 
Where  the  old  oak  trees  wore  the  earliest  green, 
And  the  moss  crept  in  love,  around  the  brim 
Of  that  old  fountain,  ruined  but  not  dim. 

Sisters  of  the  West. 

35.  I  have  stood  in  caverns,  where  never  came 
A  ray  of  light,  save  the  torches'  flame, 

As  they  gleamed  on  the  walls  with  their  glittering 


And  the  arching  roof  with  its  mimic  stars. 

Sisters  of  the  West. 

36.  Say  that  when  evening  shades 

Fall  over  land  and  lea, 
I'll  stand  beneath  those  green  arcades, 
Where  once  we  wandered  free. 

Sisters  of  the  West. 

37.  And  the  pale  stars,  their  evening  rays  are  streaming 

On  the  still  water,  through  the  shadowy  trees ; 
Then,  in  the  sadness  of  thy  mystic  dreaming, 
My  spirit's  power  shall  mingle  even  with  these. 
Sisters  of  the  West. 

38.  Lead  me  beneath  the  locust  trees, 

Where  grass  and  violets  spring, 
And  whence  the  gentle  summer  breeze 
Bears  fragrance  on  its  wing. 

Sisters  of  the  West. 


= 


©ratlt.  97 


39.  I  know  these  ruins  gray, 

I  know  these  cloisters  dim  — 
My  soul  hath  been  in  these  walls  away, 
When  slumber  chains  each  limb. 

Sisters  of  {he  West. 

40.  To  seek  the  mountain  side,  and  forest  glade, 
Or  the  transparent  lake,  whose  waters  wear 
The  glorious  semblance  of  the  sunset  heaven. 

Sisters  of  the  West. 

41.  That  scene,  that  rushing  river, 

That  forest,  lone  and  dim, 
Where  the  winds  made  a  low  shiver 
Like  the  echo  of  a  hymn. 

Sisters  of  the  West. 

42.  And  'neath  the  tall  magnolias,  and  each  grove 
Of  laurel,  where  the  native  shrines  had  place 
Amid  the  myrtle  boughs,  that  breathed  of  love. 

Sisters  of  the  West. 

43.  The  forms  of  silent,  threatening  hosts, 

Amid  them  waving  pennons  and  standards  proud; 
And  white  walled  tents  and  gay  pavilions  gleam, 
Of  cloth  of  gold,  hung  o'er  with  burnished  arms 

That  flicker  in  the  sunlight. 

Boker. 

44.  Nature's  young,  giddy  scions  shout, 

Birds  scream  from  out  the  dancing  trees; 
The  blue-eyed  violets  wink  about, 
And  toss  their  odours  on  the  breeze. 

Boker. 

9 


98  Qfl&t  iais'js  ©r«It. 

45.  The  rough  north  whitens  the  softening  land, 
And  binds  the  plains   and  streams  in  winter's 

numbing  band. 

Now  on  the  smoking  ground  falls  spring-like  rain, 
And  hub  deep  sinks  the  rocking,  labouring  wain. 

Boker. 

46.  Thickest  night,  o'erhang  my  dwelling ! 

Howling  tempest,  o'er  me  rave ! 
Turbid  torrents,  wintry  swelling, 
Still  surround  my  lonely  cave ! 

Burns. 

47.  The  forests  are  leafless,  the  meadows  are  brown, 
And  all  the  gay  foppery  of  summer  is  flown ; 
Apart  let  me  wander,  apart  let  me  muse. 

Burns. 

48.  Flow  gently,  sweet  Afton,  among  thy  green  braes, 
Flow  gently,  I'll  sing  thee  a  song  in  thy  praise. 

Burns. 

49.  As  I  stood  by  yon  roofless  tower, 

Where  the  wall-flower  scents  the  dewy  air, 
Where  the  howlet  mourns  in  her  ivy  bower, 
And  the  midnight  moon  her  care. 

Burns. 

50.  Among  the  heathy  hills  and  ragged  woods, 
The  roaring  Fyers  pours  his  mossy  floods ; 
Till  full  he  dashes  on  the  rocky  mounds, 
Where,  through  a  shapeless  breach,  his  stream 

resounds. 

Burns. 


is  tjour  $tarIMi| 


"8p  HAVE  five  hundred  crowns, 

^§\   The  thrifty  hire  I  saved  under  your  father, 

Jjl    Which  I  did  store,  to  be  my  foster  nurse, 

When  service  should  in  my  old  limbs  lie  lame. 


2.  Can  wealth  give  happiness?    Look  round,  and  see 
What  gay  distress!  what  splendid  misery! 
Whatever  fortune  lavishly  can  pour, 
The  mind  annihilates,  and  calls  for  more. 

Young. 


3.  Were  't  possible  that  wit  could  turn  a  penny, 
Poets  might  then  grow  rich  as  well  as  any: 
For  'tis  not  wit  to  have  a  great  estate, 
The  blind  effect  of  fortune  and  of  fate. 

Buckingham. 

N 


100  ®fj*  la&s's  ©ml*. 


4.  My  riches  a's  my  penny  fee, 

And  I  maun  guide  it  cannie,  0; 
But  warl's  gear  ne'er  troubles-  me, 
My  thoughts  are  a'  my  Nannie,  0. 

Burns. 

5.  0  the  weary  siller! 
0  the  weary  siller! 

Wha  wad  venture  till  her, 
That  hadna  got  the  siller? 

fc.JC 

6.  I'm  now  a  gude  farmer,  I've  acres  o'  land, 

An'  my  heart  aye  loups  light  when  I'm  viewin'  o't, 
An'  I  ha'e  servants  at  my  command, 

An'  twa  dainty  cowts  for  the  plowin'  o't. 
My  farm  is  a  snug  ane,  lies  high  on  a  muir, 
The  muir-cocks  an'  plivers  aft  skirl  at  my  door, 
An'  whan  the  sky  lowrs  I'm  aye  sure  o'  a  shower. 

To  moisten  my  land  for  the  plowin'  o't. 

A.  Scott. 

7.  It's  I  ha'e  seven  braw  new  gouns, 

And  ither  seven  better  to  mak'; 
And  yet,  for  a'  my  new  gouns, 

My  wooer  has  turned  his  back. 
Besides,  I  have  seven  milk-kye, 

And  Sandy  he  has  but  three  ; 
And  yet,  for  a'  my  gude  kye, 

The  laddie  winna  ha'e  me. 

Ramsay. 


©ml*.  ,  101 


8.  My  father  has  baith  gowd  and  gear, 

Forby  a  bonnie  maiden  free: 
My  mither  spins  wi'  eident  care, 

An'  daughters  they  ha'e  nane  but  me, 
But  what  care  I  for  gowd  and  gear, 

Or  what  care  I  for  maidens  free  ; 
I  wadna  gi'e  a  bonnie  lad 

For  a'  the  gowd  in  Chrisendie. 

Paul. 

9.  An  empty  purse  is  ill  to  wear, 
An  empty  purse  is  ill  to  share. 

Anon. 

10.  I  ha'e  gowd  and  gear;  I  ha'e  land  eneuch; 
I  ha'e  seven  good  oxen  gangin'  in  a  pleuch. 

Old  Song. 

11.  I  ha'e  a  gude  ha'  house,  a  barn,  and  a  byre, 
A  stack  afore  the  door;  I'll  mak'  a  rantin  fire: 
I'll  mak'  a  rantin  fire,  and  merry  shall  we  be: 
And,  gin  ye  winna  tak'  me,  I  can  let  ye  be. 

Old  Song. 

12.  Behind  the  door  a  bag  of  meal, 

And  in  the  kist  was  plenty 
Of  good  hard  cakes  his  mither  bakes, 

And  bannocks  were  na  scanty  ; 
A  good  fat  sow,  a  sleeky  cow 

Was  standin'  in  the  byre  ; 
Whilst  lazy  pouss  with  mealy  mou's 

Was  playing  at  the  fire. 

Clerk. 


102  Oft*  lafrj'*  ©rwlt. 


13.  Has  aye  a  penny  in  his  purse 

For  dinner  and  for  supper; 
And  if  ye  please,  a  good  fat  cheese, 
And  lumps  of  yellow  butter. 

Clerk. 

14.  We  loo'd  the  liquor  well  enough; 

But  waes  my  heart  my  cash  was  done, 
Before  that  I  had  quenched  my  drouth, 
And  laith  I  was  to  pawn  my  shoon. 

Ramsay. 

15.  I  ance  had  a  weel  theekit  cot-house 

On  Morvala's  sea-beaten  shore; 
But  our  laird  turned  me  out  frae  my  cot-house; 
Alas  !  I  was  feckless  an'  puir. 

Burns. 

16.  See  ye  not  yon  hills  and  dales, 
The  sun  shines  on  sae  brawlie  ! 

They  a'  are  mine,  and  they  shall  be  thine. 


17.  Whan  I'd  nae  need  o'  aid,  there  were  plenty  to  proffer  ; 
And  noo  whan  I  want  it,  I  ne'er  get  the  offer: 

I  could  grieve  whan  I  think  hoo  my  sillef  decreast, 
In  the  feasting  o'  those  wha  came  only  to  feast. 

Anderson. 

18.  What  though  on  hamely  fare  we  dine, 

Wear  hoddin-gray,  and  a'  that? 
Gi'e  the  fools  their  silks,  and  knaves  their  wine  ; 
A  man's  a  man,  for  a'  that. 

Burns. 


103 


19.  I  ha'e  a  green  purse  and  a  wee  pickle  gowd, 

A  bonnie  piece  Ian'  an'  a  plantin'  on't, 
It  fattens  my  flocks,  an'  my  barns  it  has  stowed, 
But  the  best  thing  o'  a's  yet  a-wantin'  on't. 

Anon. 

20.  I  was  once  a  weel-tochered  lass, 

My  mither  left  dollars  to  me, 
But  now  I'm  brought  to  a  poor  pass, 
My  step-dame  has  gart  them  flee. 

Ramsay. 

21.  I've  baith  bread  and  kitchen  nae  scanty, 

An'  gowns  i'  the  fashion  fu'  braw: 
But  aye  there's  an  unco  bit  wantie, 
That  fashes  me  mair  than  them  a'. 

Watson. 

22.  He  left  me  wi'  his  deein'  breath 

A  dwallin'  house,  an'  a'  that; 
A  barn,  a  byre,  an'  wabs  o'  claith — 
A  big  peat-stack,  an  a'  that. 
A  mare,  a  foal,  an  a'  that, 
A  mare,  a  foal,  an  a'  that, 
Sax  guid  fat  kye,  a  cauf  forby, 
An'  twa  pet  ewes,  an'  a'  that. 

Somerville. 

23.  And  though  our  fortune  is  but  low, 

Though  we  have  yet  but  little  store, 
I'll  wield  the  spade,  and  ply  the  hoe, 
And  strive  to  make  that  little  more. 

Hunter. 


104  Qlt  3U&5'£  ©mle. 

24.  Wi'  sma'  to  sell,  and  less  to  buy, 
Aboon  distress,  below  envy, 
0  wha  wad  leave  this  humble  state, 
For  a'  the  pride  of  a'  the  great  ? 


Burns. 


25.  When  I  think  on  this  world's  pelf, 

And  the  little  wee  share  I  ha'e  o't  to  myself, 
And  how  the  lass  that  wants  it  is  by  the  lads  forgot, 
May  the  shame  fa'  the  gear  and  the  blaithrie  o't! 

Anon. 

26.  An'  you  sail  wear,  when  you  are  wed, 
The  kirtle  an'  the  Heeland  plaid, 
An'  sleep  upon  a  heather  bed, 

Sae  cozy  an'  sae  canty. 

Shepherd. 

27.  There's  palace-like  mansions  at  which  ye  may  stare, 
Where  Luxury  rolls  in  her  soft  easy-chair, — 

At  least  puir  folks  think  sae, — their  knowledge  is 

sma', 

There's  far  more  contentment  at  Sandyford  ha'. 
There's  something  romantic  about  an  auld  house, 
Where  the  cock  ilka  morning  keeps  crawling  fu' 

crouse, 

An'  the  kye  in  the  byre  are  baith  sleekit  an'  braw, 
An'  such  is  the  case  at  blithe  Sandyford  ha'. 

Park. 

28.  Fortune  and  I  are  friends. 

Shdkspeare. 


©mle.  105 


29.  A  woman  impudent  and  mannish  grown 

Is  not  more  loathed  than  an  effeminate  man 
In  time  of  action. 

SMkspeare. 

30.  A  fane  forsaken,  and  a  hearth  deserted— 

A  prison  tenantless,  and  void,  and  dim, 

Whence  the  acquitted  have  in  joy  departed— 

These  are  the  relics  that  remain  to  him. 

Sisters  of  the  West. 

31.  Nor  ope  her  lap  to  saint-seducing  gold: 
Oh,  she  is  rich  in  beauty;  only  poor, 

That,  when  she  dies,  with  beauty  dies  her  store. 

Shakspeare. 

32.  Although  a  lad  were  e'er  so  smart, 
If  that  he  wants  the  yellow  dirt, 
You'll  cast  your  head  another  airt, 

And  answer  him  full  dry. 

Burns. 

33.  How  shall  your  houseless  heads  and  unfed  sides, 
Your  looped  and  windowed  raggedness,  defend  you 
From  seasons  such  as  these. 

Shakspeare. 

34.  A  coach,  with  six  footmen  behind, 

I  count  neither  trifle  nor  sin ;  . 

But,  ye  gods,  how  oft  do  we  find 
A  scandalous  trifle  within  ? 

Farquhar. 


106  qftt  Izts&g  ©ml*. 

35.  I  am  a  tailor  gay 

As  ever  wore  a  thimble, 
Through  life  I  work  away, 

My  fingers  always  nimble ; 
Although  threadbare  of  wit, 

The  lasses  I  can  wheedle. 

Dibdin. 

36.  I've  buckles — silver,  gold,  and-  brass, 
And  shoes,  to  trip  with  grace  in; 

Sashes,  ribbons,  laces  strong,  for  those  who've  need 
to  lace  in. 

McFarren. 

37.  What  now  remains  were  easy  told, 
Tom  comes,  his  pockets  lined  with  gold, 
Now  rich  enough,  no  more  to  roam. 

Dibdin. 

38.  A  gentleman  so  rich  in  the  world's  goods, 
Handsome  and  young,  enjoying  all  the  present. 

Byron. 

39.  Why  call  the  miser  miserable?  as 
I  said  before:  the  frugal  life  is  his, 
Which  in  a  saint  or  cynic  ever  was 
The  theme  of  praise. 

Byron. 

40.  Young  Ben  he  was  a  nice  young  man, 
A  carpenter  by  trade. 

Old  Song. 


'a  ©tatle.  107 


41.  Where's  he  for  honest  poverty 

That  hangs  his  head  and  a'  that? 
The  coward  slave,  we  pass  him  by, 
And  dare  be  poor  for  a'  that! 

Burns. 

42.  Then  she's  got  a  fine  stock  of  clothes, 
With  her  grandmother's  holiday  hose, 
Made  out  of  the  very  best  yarn, 

Full  of  holes,  but  never  a  darn. 

Hickman. 

43.  Can  wealth  or  friends  thy  heart  incline 
To  scorn  my  humble  lot? 

Old  Song. 

44.  With  a  rich  pair  of  pockets  o'erflowing  with  charms. 

Dibdin. 

45.  Wealth  and  power,  what  are  ye  worth, 
To  pleasure  if  you  give  not  birth? 
Rich  in  ambition's  gilded  toys, 

I  barter  them  for  real  joys. 

Cobb. 

46.  To  poverty  we'll  bid  adieu, 

My  heart  with  joy  abounds; 

Lord  !  what  a  deal  we  all  may  do 

With  ten  thousand  pounds. 

Homer. 

47.  I  ask  not  wealth,  I  ask  not  power, 

Content  must  ever  be 
Where'er  thou  dwell'st,  and  every  hour 
Be  bliss  that's  shared  with  thee. 

Baylies. 


108  Hfot  3U&2'* 


48.  I'll  buy  ye  new  silks  and  fine  satins  to  wear, 

You'll  dress  yourself  up  every  day  like  a  lady 

bright; 

Sit  yourself  down  in  my  mother's  great  chair, 
And  scold  all  the  servants  from  morning  till  night. 

Hudson. 

49.  Though  others  may  boast  of  more  riches  than  mine, 

And  rate  my  attractions  e'en  fewer, 
At  their  jeers  and  attractions  I'll  scorn  to  repine, 
Can  they  boast  of  a  heart  that  is  truer? 

English  Song. 

50.  In  this  mighty  city  how  easy  to  live, 

For  credit's  the  soul  of  the  place; 
"Which  great  and  small  equally  give  and  receive, 
So  credit  can  be  no  disgrace. 

Dibdin. 


Dmrito  iprar  /ute 


be  a  cot  beside  the  hill; 
A  bee-hive's  hum  shall  soothe  my  ear; 
A  willowy  brook  that  turns  a  mill, 
With  many  a  fall  shall  linger  near. 

Rogers. 


2.  My  eyes  make  pictures  when  they're  shut:  — 

I  see  a  fountain  large  and  fair, 
A  willow  and  a  ruined  hut, 

And  thee  and  me  and  Mary  there. 
0  Mary!  maka  thy  gentle  lap  our  pillow; 
Bend  o'er  us  like  a  bower,  my  beautiful  green  willow. 

Coleridge. 

3.  Whoe'er  has  travelled  life's  dull  round, 

Where'er  his  stages  may  have  been, 
May  sigh  to  think  he  still  has  found 

The  warmest  welcome  at  an  inn. 

Shenstone. 

10  109 


110 


4.  Oh  !  ask  not  a  home  in  the  mansions  of  pride, 

Where  marble  shines  out  in  the  pillars  and  walls  ; 
Though  the  roof  be  of  gold,  it  is  brilliantly  cold, 
And  joy  may  not  be  found  in  its  torch-lighted  halls. 

Eliza  Cook. 

5.  Oh  for  a  lodge  in  some  vast  wilderness, 
Some  boundless  contiguity  of  shade. 

Cowper. 

6.  Halfway  up 

He  built  his  house,  whence  by  stealth  he  caught, 
Among  the  hills,  a  glimpse  of  busy  life, 
That  sootKed,  not  stirred. 

Rogers. 

7.  Oh  haste,  unfold  the  hospitable  halll 
That  hall,  where  once,  in  antiquated  state, 
The  chair  of  justice  held  the  grave  debate. 

Rogers. 

8.  My  Highland  home,  where  tempests  blow, 

And  cold  thy  wintry  looks, 
Thy  mountains  crowned  with  driven  snow, 
And  ice-bound  are  thy  brooks  1 

Morton. 

9.  Go  make  thy  home 

In  some  desert  place, 
Which  no  voice  may  gladden, 
No  footsteps  grace. 

Sisters  of  the  West. 


'a  ©ratU.  Ill 


10.  Some  cottage-home,  from  towns  and  toil  remote, 
WMfre  love  and  lore  nvay  calm  alternate  hours. 

Campbell. 

11.  No  home!  no  home!    Oh,  weary  one! 

And  art  thou  like  the  dove  of  yore, 
Who  found  no  spot  to  rest  upon, 
Wandering  the  waste  of  waters  o'er? 

Sisters  of  the  West. 

12.  And  thou  art  like  that  God-struck  man, 

Forever  wandering  on; 
Thy  spirit's  doom  is  weird  and  wan ; 
Alone!  alone!  alone! 

Sisters  of  the  West. 

13.  I  could  be  happy  there ! 

In  that  low  cot  embowered  in  deepest  shade, 
And  lying  in  a  lone  and  lovely  glade. 

Sisters  of  the  West. 

14.  At  length  his  lonely  cot  appears  in  view, 
Beneath  the  shelter  of  an  aged  tree. 

Burns. 

15.  I  knew  by  the  smoke,  that  so  gracefully  curled 

Above  the  green  elms,  that  a  cottage  was  near ; 

And  I  said,  If  there's  peace  to  be  found  in  the  world, 

A  heart  that  is  humble  might  hope  for  it  here. 

Moore. 

16.  To  lie  in  kilns  and  barns  at  e'en, 
When  bones  are  crazed  and  blood  is  thin, 

Is  doubtless  great  distress. 

Burnt. 


112  ®f)«  la&j'*  ©ml*. 


17.  Very  near  the  west  end,  though  I  must  not  tell 

where. 

L.  W.  K. 

18.  It  is  a  hall 

Where  people  dance,  and  sup,  and  dance  again. 

Byron. 

19.  Into  b1  ne  of  the  sweetest  of  hotels, 

Especially  for  foreigners  —  and  mostly 
For  those  whom  favour  or  whom  fortune  swells, 
And  cannot  find  a  bill's  small  items  costly. 

Byron. 

20.  The  mansion's  self  was  vast  and  venerable, 

With  more  of  the  monastic  than  has  been 
Elsewhere  preserved:  the  cloisters  still  were  stable, 
The  cells  too  and  refectory,  I  ween. 

Byron. 

21.  Low  was  our  pretty  cot:  our  tallest  rose 
Peeped  at  the  chamber-window.     We  could  hear, 
At  silent  noon,  and  eve,  and  early  morn, 

The  sea's  faint  murmur. 

Coleridge. 

22.  A  beautiful  garden  with  weeds  overrun, 

And  an  elegant  fish-pond  dried  up  by  the  sun; 
Then  the  house  stood  convenient  enough,  you  may 

say, 
Next  door  to  the  whisky-shop  over  the  way. 

Dibdin. 


®^  iairji's  ©raxlt.  113 



23.  A  green  and  silent  spot,  amid  the  hills, 

A  small  and  silent  dell!     O'er  stiller  place 
No  sinking  sky-lark  ever  poised  himself. 

Coleridge. 

24.  My  house  in  Duke's  Place  is 
The  mart  of  the  Graces, 
Vat  show  their  sweet  faces 

By  light  of  the  lamps. 

Box. 

25.  I  will  twine  thee  a  bower, 

By  the  clear  siller  fountain, 
And  I'll  cover  it  o'er 

Wi'  the  flowers  of  the  mountain; 
I  will  range  through  the  wilds, 

And  the  deep  glens  sae  dreary, 
And  return  wi'  the  spoils 

To  the  bower  o'  my  dearie. 

Tannahill. 

26.  Here  naught  but  Candour  reigns,  indulgent  Ease, 

Good-nature  lounging,  sauntering  up  and  down: 
They  who  are  pleased  themselves  must  always  please ; 
On  others'  ways  they  never  squint  a  frown. 

Thomson. 

27.  The  rooms  with  costly  tapestry  were  hung, 

Where  was  inwoven  many  a  gentle  tale, 
Such  as  of  old  the  rural  poets  sung, 
Or  of  Arcadian  or  Sicilian  vale. 

Thomson. 
10* 


114  SJijt  3La&2's  ©radf. 

28.  My  house  a  cottage,  more 

Than  palace,  and  should  fitting  be 
For  all  my  use,  no  luxury. 

Cowley. 

29.  Then,  too,  the  pillared  dome,  magnific,  heaved 
Its  ample  roof;  and  Luxury  within 

Poured  out  her  glittering  stores. 

Thomson. 

30.  Here  wealth  still  swells  the  golden  tide, 

As  busy  trade  his  labour  plies ; 
There  architecture's  noble  pride 
Bids  elegance  and  splendour  rise. 

Burns. 

31.  Mid  piles  beneath  whose  fretted  cornices 
Echo  still  babbles  of  a  glorious  past. 

Edith  May. 

32.  Above,  bright  glimpses  of  the  purest 'blue; 

Around,  the  fir  trees'  sombre  depth  of  shade, 
Save  where  some  sapling  of  a  brighter  hue 
Starts  from  the  covert  as  if  half  afraid. 

Elizabeth  Emmet. 

33.  There  is  not  in  the  wide  world  a  valley  so  sweet 
As  that  vale  in  whose  bosom  the  bright  waters  meet; 
Oh !  the  last  rays  of  feeling  and  life  must  depart, 
Ere  the  bloom  of  that  valley  shall  fade  from  my 

heart. 

Moore. 


flfl&e  3U&s'*  ©ratJe.  115 

34.  Yes!  thou  art  changed,  my  mountain  homo; 

Yet  still  my  heart  doth  cling  to  thee, 
The  spot  where  I  was  wont  to  roam, 
From  grief  and  sadness  free. 

W.  G.  H. 

35.  Fountains  leaping,  vinelets  creeping, 

Mark  where  she  moves ; 
Tendrils  clinging,  sweet  birds  singing, 
Tell  how  she  loves. 

H.  F.  Gould. 

36.  Where  a  lone  castle  by  the  sea 

Upreared  its  dark  and  mouldering  pile, 
Far  seen,  with  all  its  frowning  towers, 
For  many  and  many  a  weary  mile. 

Anna  M.  Power  and  Sarah  H.  Whitman. 

37.  'Twas  an  humble,  moss-grown  cot, 

Where  the  maid  of  the  sun-bright  hair 
Dwelt  with  a  crone  who  loved  her  not: 
She  was  wrinkled  and  old  with  care. 

Kate  St.  Clair. 

38.  The  ruddy  hearth-fires  gleam  and  fade 

Upon  the  dusky  wall, 
And  on  the  darkened  ceiling 

Fantastic  shadows  fall; 
No  sound  is  heard  in  all  the  house, 

So  lonely  now  and  drear, 
And  e'en  the  cricket's  drowsy  song 

Falls  faintly  on  her  ear. 

Anna  M.  Power  and  Sarah  H.  Whitman. 


116  1$ht  3U&s'a  ©ml*. 


39.  And  he  lived  "up  town,"  in  a  splendid  square, 
And  kept  his  daughter  on  dainty  fare, 

And  gave  her  gems  that  were  rich  and  rare, 
And  the  finest  rings  and  things  to  wear, 
And  feathers  enough  to  plume  her! 

/.  G.  Saxe. 

40.  'Twas  a  dreadful  change  in  human  affairs, 
From  a  place  "Up  Town"  to  a  nook  "Up  Stairs," 

From  an  avenue  down  to  an  alley  ! 

J.  G.  Saxe. 

41.  A  lordly  oak,  with  spreading  arms, 
By  my  mountain-dwelling  grew. 
O'er  the  roof  and  chimney-top 

Uprose  that  glorious  tree  ; 
No  giant  of  all  the  forests  round 
Had  mightier  boughs  than  he. 

/.  H.  Bryant. 

42.  So  what  I  but  guessed,  my  Mabel, 

The  bird  hath  told  at  will, 
That  you're  going  to  marry  the  miller, 
And  live  beside  the  mill. 

Mrs.  M.  N.  McDonald. 

43.  On  marble  stairs,  and  tessellated  hall, 
Scarce  heard  was  her  retiring  footstep-fall, 

While  passing  to  her  trocador, 
Where,  while  she  bathed,  Arabian  maids  shampooed 
Their  royal  mistress  ;  and  perfume  renewed 

Through  perforated  chamber  floor. 

Anon. 


©ratlt.  117 


44.  There's  a  homestead  of  beauty  by  Delaware's  stream, 

And  the  sweet  tones  of  children  are  ringing  all  day, 
While  the  voice  of  the  mother  is  blithesome  and  glad, 

As  the  notes  of  the  song-bird  that  warbles  in  May. 
The  angel  of  peace  to  the  hearth-stone  has  come, 

With  a  message  of  mercy  to  brighten  each  dream, 
And  as  glad  to  the  heart,  as  'tis  pure  to  the  eye, 

Is  that  homestead  of  beauty  by  Delaware's  stream. 
S.  D.  Anderson. 

45.  Land  of  poets,  Italy, 

As  the  rivers  seek  the  sea, 
Floats  my  dreaming  soul  to  thee. 

0.  Allen. 

46.  Hound  our  old  paternal  dwelling 

Here,  'tis  all  a  hush  profound, 
Save  an  infant  zephyr  swelling, 
'Tis  to  memory  spirit-ground. 

H.  F.  Gould. 

47.  Our  father  lives  in  Washington, 

And  has  a  world  of  cares, 
But  gives  his  children  each  a  farm, 
Enough  for  jthem  and  theirs. 

Mrs.  L.  H.  Sigourney. 


48.  But  where  the  rivulet  runneth 
In  the  bottom  of  the  glen. 


KB.M. 


49.  A  city  mansion,  neat,  nor  proud, 
Where  Business  hums  his  song  aloud. 

C.  Watson. 


118  W)t  ia&s'je  ©ml*. 


50.  In  thy  dwelling,  where  the  fathers 

Of  our  country's  history 
Spake  the  thoughts  that  sent  our  watchword 
Thunder-toned,  across  the  sea. 

Mary  E.  Hewitt. 


mill  to  pur  ftim  Itarthnj? 


your  fortune  and  felicity! 
Forget  the  world  around  you.    Meantime  friend- 
ship 

Shall  keep  strict  vigils  for  you,  anxious,  active. 
Schiller —  Coleridge. 

2.  Happy  in  life!  and  when  the  dying  ray 

Of  sunset  on  thy  darkening  path  descends, — 
Happier  in  death!  in  heaven  a  brighter  day, 
And    sweeter    bowers    and   songs,    and   dearer 
friends ! 

Wilmott. 

3.  Our  actions  still  by  virtue  blessed, 

And  to  our  precepts  ever  true ; 
The  world,  admiring,  shall  request 
To  learn,  and  our  bright  paths  pursue. 

Old  Song. 
119 


120  ®lj*  IB&S'JS 


4.  And  now  old  Murmur  all  alone 

Has  none  to  close  the  Grumbler's  eyes. 

Cherry. 

5.  It  is  that  settled  ceaseless  gloom 

The  fabled  Hebrew  wanderer  bore, 
That  will  not  look  beyond  the  tomb, 
But  cannot  hope  for  rest  before. 

Byron. 

6.  Ambition  holds  the  nectared  drink, 

It  in  the  golden  vase  looks  fair; 
But  what  fond  lip  can  touch  the  brink 
Nor  quaff  a  sea  of  sorrows  there? 

Kelly. 

7.  For  soon  the  winter  of  the  year, 
And  age,  life's  winter,  will  appear  ; 
At  this,  thy  lovely  bloom  will  fade, 
As  that  will  strip  the  verdant  shade. 

Mallet. 

8.  Yet  pilot-honour  shall  not  fail 

To  weather  every  dangerous  gale  ; 
And,  to  old  age  as  we  subside, 
Delight  our  smiling  fire-side. 

Dibdin. 

9.  The  sight  which  keen  affection  clears, 

How  can  it  judge  amiss? 
To  me  it  pictured  hope,  and  taught 
My  spirit  this  consoling  thought,— 
That  Love's  sun,  though  it  rise  in  tears, 

May  set  in  bliss. 

Strangford. 


lairj'js  ©rstle.  121 


10.  Calm  to  peace  thy  lover's  bosom — 

Can  it,  dearest,  must  it  be? 
Thou  within  an  hour  shalt  lose  him, 
He  forever  loses  thee! 

Moore, 

11.  If  but  little  your  own  you  can  call, 

It's  quite  certain  much  you  cannot  pay; 
And  if  you've  got  nothing  at  all, 
Why,  you're  sure  they  can't  take  it  away. 

Old  Song. 

12.  Toil  only  gives  the  soul  to  shine, 
And  makes  rest  fragrant  and  benign; 
A  heritage,  it  seems  to  me, 

Worth  being  poor  to  hold  in  fee. 

/.  E.  Lowell. 

13.  When  fortune  raiseth  to  the  greatest  height, 
The  happy  man  should  most  suppress  his  state; 
Expecting  still  a  change  of  things  to  find, 
And  fearing  when  the  gods  appear  too  kind. 

B.  Howard. 

14.  Prosperity  puts  out  unnumbered  thoughts, 
Of  import  high,  and  light  divine,  to  man. 

Young. 

15.  How  beautiful  is  sorrow,  when  'tis  drest 
By  virgin  innocence !     It  makes 
Felicity  in  others  seem  deformed. 

W.  Davenant. 
11 


122 


16.  Our  wedding  cheer  to  a  sad  burial  feast; 
Our  solemn  hymns  to  sullen  dirges  change; 
Our  bridal  flowers  serve  for  a  buried  corse, 
And  all  things  change  them  to  the  contrary. 

Shakspeare. 

17.  Oh!  ever  thus  from  childhood's  hour 

I've  seen  my  fondest  hopes  decay  ; 
I  never  loved  a  tree  or  flower, 
But  'twas  the  first  to  fade  away. 

Moore. 

18.  There  comes 
For  ever  something  between  us  and  what 
We  deem  our  happiness. 

Byron. 

19.  And  therefore  —  since  I  cannot  prove  a  lover, 
To  entertain  these  fair  well-spoken  days  — 

I  am  determined  to  prove  a  villain, 

And  hate  the  idle  pleasures  of  these  days. 

Shakspeare. 

20.  "Whoever,  with  an  earnest  soul, 

Strives  for  some  end  from  this  low  world  afar, 
Still  upward  travels  though  he  miss  the  goal, 
And  strays  —  but  towards  a  star! 

Bulwer. 

21.  These  base  mechanics  never  keep  their  words 
In  any  thing  they  promise.     'Tis  their  trade 

To  swear  and  break  ;  they  all  grow  rich  by  breaking 
More  than  their  words. 

Jonson. 


'a  ©mlt. 


22.  I  dwell  amid  the  city, 
And  hear  the  flow  of  souls  ! 

Miss  Barrett. 

23.  Though  at  times  my  spirit  fails  me, 

And  the  bitter  tear-drops  fall, 
Though  my  lot  is  hard  and  lonely, 
Yet  I  hope  —  I  hope  through  all. 

Mrs.  Norton. 

24.  Shortly  his  fortune  shall  be  lifted  higher; 
True  industry  doth  kindle  honour's  fire. 

Shakspeare. 

25.  How  blest  the  farmer's  simple  life  1 

How  pure  the  joy  it  yields! 
Far  from  the  world's  tempestuous  strife, 
Free  mid  the  scented  fields  1 

C.  W.  Everest. 

26.  Walk 
Boldly  and  wisely  in  that  light  thou  hast;  — 
There  is  a  hand  above  will  help  thee  on. 

Bailey. 

27.  Let  error  act,  opinion  speak, 

And  want  afflict,  and  sickness  break, 
And  anger  burn,  dejection  chill, 
And  joy  distract,  and  sorrow  kill, 
Till,  armed  by  care,  and  taught  to  mow, 
Time  draws  the  long  destructive  blow. 

Parnell. 

28.  Unrivalled  as  thy  merit,  be  thy  fame. 

Tickell. 


124  &jji  3U&j'js  ©ml*. 


29.  But  midst  the  crowd,  the  hum,  the  shock  of  men, 

To  hear,  to  see,  to  feel,  and  to  possess, 
And  roam  along,  the  world's  tired  denizen, 

With  none  who  bless  us,  none  whom  we  may  bless. 

Byron. 

30.  Now  I  recentre  my  immortal  mind 

In  the  deep  Sabbath  of  meek  self-content; 
Cleansed  from  the  vaporous  passions  that  bedim 

God's  image. 

Coleridge. 

31.  The  seals  of  office  glitter  in  his  eyes; 

He  climbs,  he  pants,  he  grasps  them ;  at  his  heels, 
Close  at  his  heels,  a  demagogue  ascends, 
And  with  a  dexterous  jerk  soon  twists  him  down, 
And  wins  them,  but  to  lose  them  in  his  turn. 

Cowper. 

32.  Fathers  their  children  and  themselves  abuse, 
That  wealth,  a  husband  for  their  daughters  choose. 

Shirley. 

33.  Me  let  the  tender  office  long  engage 
To  rock  the  cradle  of  reposing  age ; 

With  lenient  arts  extend  a  mother's  breath, 
Make  languor  smile,  and  smooth  the  bed  of  death. 

Pope. 

34.  I  fly  like  a  bird  of  the  air, 

In  search  of  a  home  and  a  rest; 
A  balm  for  the  sickness  of  care ; 
A  bliss  for  a  bosom  unblest. 

Byron. 


Qftt  labs'*  ©r&cli.  125 

35.  Here's  a  sigh  to  those  who  love  me, 

And  a  smile  to  those  who  hate ; 
And,  whatever  sky's  above  me, 

Here's  a  heart  for  every  fate. 

Byron. 

36.  There  are  two  hearts  whose  movements  thrill 

In  unison  so  closely  sweet  1 
That  pulse  to  pulse  responsive  still, 
They  both  must  heave — or  cease  to  beat. 

B.  Barton. 

37.  His  life  is  calm  and  blessed,  for  his  peace, 
Like  a  rich  pearl  beyond  the  diver's  ken, 
Lies  deep  in  his  own  bosom.     He  is  pure, 
For  the  soul's  errands  are  not  done  with  men; 
His  senses  are  subdued  and  serve  the  soul. 

Willis. 

38.  — Forced  to  drudge  for  the  dregs  of  men, 

And  scrawl  strange  words  with  the  barbarous  pen, 
And  mingle  among  the  jostling  crowd, 
Where  the  sons  of  strife  are  busy  and  loud. 

Bryant. 

39.  For  foreign  glory,  foreign  joy,  they  roam; 
No  thought  of  peace  or  happiness  at  home. 
But  wisdom's  triumph  is  well  timed  retreat, 
As  hard  a  science  to  the  fair  as  great! 

Pope. 

40.  Oh  happiness  of  sweet  retired  content! 
To  be  at  once  secure  and  innocent. 

Denham. 
11* 


126  aft*  iafcs'5  ©mlt. 

41.  Famine  is  in  thy  cheeks, 
Need  and  oppression  stareth  in  thine  eyes, 
Upon  thy  back  hangs  ragged  misery, 

The  world  is  not  thy  friend,  nor  the  world's  law. 

Shakspeare. 

42.  Though  the  lamp  of  his  fame  will  continue  to  burn, 
When  even  his  dust  to  the  dust  shall  return, 
And  for  ages  to  come  a  bright  halo  will  throw 
O'er  the  mouldering  remains  of  the  mighty  Munro. 

Finlay. 

43.  How  miserable  a  thing  is  a  great  man : 
Take  noisy  vexing  greatness  they  that  please, 
Give  me  obscure,  and  safe,  and  silent  ease. 

Crown. 

44.  The  rich  man's  son  inherits  lands, 

And  piles  of  brick,  and  stone,  and  gold, 
And  he  inherits  soft  white  hands, 
And  tender  flesh  that  fears  the  cold, 
Nor  dares  to  wear  a  garment  old. 

/.  R.  LovxH. 

45.  May  dool  and  sorrow  be  his  chance, 
Dool  and  sorrow,  dool  and  sorrow, 
May  dool  and  sorrow  be  his  chance, 

And  nane  say,  Wae's  me  for  'im! 

Skinner. 

46.  Virtue  is  choked  with  foul  ambition, 

And  charity  chased  hence  by  rancour's  hand; 
Foul  subornation  is  predominant. 

Shakspeare. 


Slje  SU&j'a  ©ml*.  127 

47.  He's  comin'  frae  the  North  that's  to  fancy  me, 
He's  comin'  frae  the  North 'that's  to  fancy  me; 
A  feather  in  his  bonnet  and  a  ribbon  at  his  knee, 
He's  a  bonnie,  bonnie  laddie,  an  yon  be  he. 

Burns. 

48.  Sigh  no  more,  lady,  sigh  no  more, 

Men  were  deceivers  ever; 
One  foot  in  sea,  and  one  on  shore; 
To  one  thing  constant  never. 

Shakspeare. 

49.  They  that  stand  high  have  many  blasts  to  shake 

them; 

And,  if  they  fall,  they  dash  themselves  to  pieces. 

Shakspeare. 

50.  Truth  shall  nurse  her, 

Holy  and  heavenly  thoughts  still  counsel  her: 
She  shall  be  loved,  and  feared :  her  own  shall  blesa 

her, 

Her  foes  shake  like  a  field  of  beaten  corn, 
And  hang  their  heads  with  sorrow:  good  grows  with 

her. 

Shakspeare. 


fa  ipra  to? 


128 


HERE  Claribel  low-lieth 
The  breezes  pause  and  die, 
Letting  the  rose  leaves  fall: 
But  the  solemn  oak-tree  sigheth, 
Thick-leaved,  ambrosial, 
With  an  ancient  melody 
Of  an  inward  agony, 
Where  Claribel  low  lieth. 
At  eve  the  beetle  boometh 
Athwart  the  thicket  lone: 
At  noon  the  bee  low  hummeth 
About  the  mossed  headstone: 
At  midnight  the  moon  cometh, 
And  looketh  down  alone. 
Her  song  the  lintwhite  swelleth 
The  clear-voiced  mavis  dwelleth, 
The  fledging  throstle  lispeth, 
The  slumbrous  wave  outwelleth, 
The  babbling  runnel  crispeth, 
The  hollow  grot  replieth 
Where  Claribel  low  lieth. 

Tennyson. 


ia&j's  ©mlt.  129 


2.  I  heard  no  sounds,  but  such  as  evening  sends 
Up  from  the  city  to  these  quiet  shades ; 

A  blended  murmur  sweetly  harmonizing 
With  flowing  fountains,  feathered  minstrelsy, 
And  voices  from  the  hills. 

Hillhouse. 

3.  So  evening's  charming  voices,  welcomed  ever, 

As  signs  of  rest  and  peace  ; — the  watchman's  call, 
The  closing  gates,  the  Levite's  mellow  trump 
Announcing  the  returning  moon,  the  pipe 
Of  swains,  the  bleat,  the  bark,  the  housing-bell. 

Hillliouse. 

4.  What  wakest  thou,  Spring? — sweet  voices  in  the 

woods, 

And  reed-like  echoes,  that  have  long  been  mute; 
Thou  bringest  back,  to  fill  the  solitudes, 

The  lark's  clear  pipe,  the  cuckoo's  viewless  flute, 
Whose  tone  seems  breathing  mournfulness  or  glee, 
Even  as  our  hearts  may  be. 

Remans. 

5.  By  the  sleepy  ripple  of  the  stream, 
Which  hath  lulled  thee  into  many  a  dream; 
By  the  shiver  of  the  ivy-leaves 

To  the  wind  of  morn  at  thy  casement-eaves, 
By  the  bees'  deep  murmur  in  the  limes, 
By  the  music  of  the  Sabbath-chimes, 
By  every  sound  of  thy  native  shade, 
Stronger  and  dearer  the  spell  is  made. 

Hemans. 


130  &f)*  3U&2's  ©ml*. 


6.  The  sparrow's  chirrup  on  the  roof, 

The  slow  clock  ticking,  and  the  sound 
Which  to  the  wooing  wind  aloof 

The  poplar  made. 

Tennyson. 

1.  Sometimes,  when  I'm  alone, 

Just  ere  his  coming,  I  have  heard  a  sound, 
A  strange,  mysterious,  melancholy  sound, 
Like  music  in  the  air.     Like  wild  sad  music, 
More  moving  than  the  lute  or  viol  touched 
By  skilful  fingers.     Wailing  in  the  air 
It  seems  around  me,  and  withdraws  as  when 
One  looks  and  lingers  for  a  last  adieu. 

Hillhouse. 

8.  Thou  hast  been  o'er  solitary  seas,  and  from  their 

wastes  brought  back 
Each  noise  of  waters  that  awoke  in  the  mystery  of 

thy  track  ; 
The  chime  of  low  soft  southern  waves  on  some  green 

palmy  shore, 

The  hollow  roll  of  distant  surge,  the  gathered  billow's 
roar. 

Hemans. 

'  9.  The  lintwhite  and  the  throstlecock 
Have  voices  sweet  and  clear  ; 

All  in  the  bloomed  May. 
They  from  the  blosmy  brere 
Call  to  the  fleeting  year, 
If  that  he  would  them  hear 
And  stay. 

Tennyson. 


'js  ©mlt.  131 


10.  The  jar  of  life  is  still;  the  city  speaks 

In  gentle  murmurs  ;  voices  chime  with  lutes 
Waked  in  the  streets  and  gardens  ;  loving  pairs 
Eye  the  red  west  in  one  another's  arms  ; 
And  nature,  breathing  dew  and  fragrance,  yields 
A  glimpse  of  happiness,  which  He,  who  formed 
Earth  and  the  stars,  had  power  to  make  eternal. 

Hillhouse. 

11.  But  thou  art  swelling  on,  thou  deep, 

Through  many  an  olden  clime, 
Thy  billowy  anthem,  ne'er  to  sleep 

Until  the  close  of  time. 
Thou  liftest  up  thy  solemn  voice 

To  every  wind  and  sky, 
And  all  our  earth's  green  shores  rejoice 

In  that  one  harmony. 
It  fills  the  noontide's  calm  profound, 

The  sunset's  heaven  of  gold; 
And  the  still  midnight  hears  the  sound, 

E'en  as  when  first  it  rolled. 
Let  there  be  silence  deep  and  strange, 

Where  sceptred  cities  rose! 
Thou  speak'  st  of  one  who  doth  not  change  — 

So  may  our  hearts  repose. 

Hemans. 

12.  A  breeze  that  roves  o'er  stream  and  hill, 

Telling  of  winter  gone, 
Hath  such  sweet  falls  —  yet  caught  we  still 
A  farewell  in  its  tone. 

Hemans. 


132  ®t)t  la&s'js  ©mlc. 


13.  The  wild  swan's  death-hymn  took  the  soul 
Of  that  waste  place  with  joy 

Hidden  in  sorrow:  at  first  to  the  ear 
The  warble  was  low,  and  full  and  clear; 
And  floating  about  the  undersky, 
Prevailing  in  weakness,  the  coronach  stole 
Sometimes  afar,  and  sometimes  anear; 
But  anon  her  awful  jubilant  voice, 
With  a  music  strange  and  manifold, 
Flowed  forth  on  a  carol  free  and  bold: 
As  when  a  mighty  people  rejoice 
With  shawms,  and  with  cymbals,  and  harps  of  gold, 
And  the  tumult  of  their  acclaim  is  rolled 
Through  the  open  gates  of  the  city  afar, 
To  the  shepherd  who  watcheth  the  evening  star. 

Tennyson. 

14.  Then  rose  a  nation's  sound  — 

Oh  !  what  a  power  to  bid  the  quick  heart  bound 
The  wind  bears  onward  with  the  stormy  cheer 
Men  give  to  glory  on  her  high  career  ! 
Is  there  indeed  such  power  ?  —  far  deeper  dwells 
In  one  kind  household  voice,  to  reach  the  cells 
Whence  happiness  flows  forth  ! 

'"i'1    Hemans. 

15.  Ye  are  from  dingle  and  fresh  glade,  ye  flowers! 

By  some  kind  hand  to  cheer  my  dungeon  sent; 
O'er  you  the  oak  shed  down  the  summer  showers, 

And  the  lark's  nest  was  where  your  bright  cups 

bent, 

Quivering  to  breeze  and  rain-drop,  like  the  sheen 
Of  twilight  stars.    On  you  Heaven's  eye  hath  been. 


'js  ©raxle.  133 


Through  the  leaves,  pouring  its  dark  sultry  blue 
Into  your  glowing  hearts  ;  the  bee  to  you 
Hath  murmured,  and  the  rill.     My  soul  grows  faint 
With  passionate  yearning,  as  its  quick  dreams  paint 
Your  haunts  by  dell  and  stream,  —  the  green,  the 

free, 

The  full  of  all  sweet  sound,  —  the  shut  from  me! 

Hemans. 

16.  Then  on  the  silence  of  the  snows  there  lay 
A  Sabbath's  quiet  sunshine,  —  and  its  bell 
Filled  the  hushed  air  awhile,  with  lonely  sway; 
For  the  stream's  voice  was  chained  by  Winter's 

spell 
The  deep  wood-sounds  had  ceased.    But  rock  and 

dell 

Rung  forth,  ere  long,  when  strains  of  jubilee 
Pealed  from  the  mountain-churches,  with  a  swell 
Of  praise  to  Him  who  stills  the  raging  sea. 

Hemans. 

17.  Heard  melodies  are  sweet,  but  those  unheard 

Are  sweeter;  therefore,  ye  soft  pipes,  play  on; 
Not  to  the  sensual  ear,  but,  more  endeared, 

Pipe  to  the  spirit  ditties  of  no  tone  : 
Fair  youth,  beneath  the  trees,  thou  canst  not  leave 
Thy  song,  nor  ever  can  those  trees  be  bare; 

Bold  Lover,  never,  never  canst  thou  kiss, 
Though  winning  near  the  goal  —  yet,  do  not  grieve; 
She  cannot  fade,  though  thou  hast  not  thy  bliss, 

For  ever  wilt  thou  love,  and  she  be  fair  ! 

Keats. 

12 


134  gjfct  fairs'*  ©ratlt. 

18.  There  came  enchantment  with  the  shifting  wind, 
That  did  both  drown  and  keep  alive  my  ears. 

I  threw  my  shell  away  upon  the  sand, 

And  a  wave  filled  it,  as  my  sense  was  filled 

With  that  new  blissful  golden  melody. 

A  living  death  was  in  each  gush  of  sounds, 

Each  family  of  rapturous  hurried  notes, 

That  fell,  one  after  one,  yet  all  at  once, 

Like  pearl  beads  dropping  sudden  from  their  string: 

And  then  another,  then  another  strain, 

Each  like  a  dove  leaving  its  olive  perch, 

With  music  winged  instead  of  silent  plumes, 

To  hover  round  my  head,  and  make  me  sick 

Of  joy  and  grief  at  once. 

Keats. 

19.  Awakening  up,  he  took  her  hollow  lute, — 
Tumultuous, — and,  in  chords  that  tenderest  be, 
He  played  an  ancient  ditty,  long  since  mute, 

In  Provence  called,  "La  belle  dame  sans  mercy;" 
Close  to  her  ear  touching  the  melody; — 
Wherewith  disturbed,  she  uttered  a  soft  moan : 
He  ceased — she  panted  quick — and  suddenly 
Her  blue  affrayed  eyes  wide  open  shone : 
Upon  his  knees  he  sank,  pale  as  smooth-sculptured 
stone.  :..;-. 

Keats. 

20.  Only  overhead  the  sweet  nightingale 

Ever  sang  more  sweet  as  the  day  might  fail, 
And  snatches  of  its  Elysian  chant 
Were  mixed  with  the  dreams  of  the  Sensitive  Plant. 

Shelley. 


©rad*.  135 


21.  The  whirlwind  is  rolling, 
The  thunder  is  tolling, 
The  forest  is  swinging, 
The  minster-bells  ringing  — 

Come  away  ! 

Shelley. 

22.  Like  a  poet  hidden 

In  the  light  of  thought, 
Singing  hymns  unbidden, 

Till  the  world  is  wrought 

To  sympathy  with  hopes  and  fears  it  heeded  not: 
Like  a  high-born  maiden 

In  a  palace  tower, 
Soothing  her  love-laden 

Soul  in  secret  hour 

With  music  sweet  as  love,  which  overflows  her 
bower. 

Shelley. 

23.  I  stood  within  the  city  disinterred; 

And  heard  the  autumnal  leaves  like  light  foot- 

falls 

Of  spirits  passing  through  the  streets  ;  and  heard 
The  Mountain's  slumberous  voice  at  intervals 
Thrill  through  those  roofless  halls  ; 
The  oracular  thunder  penetrating  shook 
The  listening  soul  in  my  suspended  blood; 
I  felt  that  Earth  out  of  her  deep  heart  spoke  — 
I  felt,  but  heard  not. 

Shelley. 


136  %fa  fairs'*  ©rarfc. 

24.  Even  so  with  smoothing  gentleness  began 
The  mitred  Preacher,  winning  audience  close: 
Till,  rising  up,  the  rapid  argument 

Soared  to  the  Empyrean,  linking  earth 
With  heaven  by  golden  chains  of  eloquence ; 
Till  the  mind,  all  its  faculties  and  powers, 
Lay  floating,  self-surrendered  in  the  deep 
Of  admiration. 

Milman. 

25.  Ah!  wherefore  all  this  wormy  circumstance? 

Why  linger  at  the  yawning  tomb  so  long? 
0  for  the  gentleness  of  old  Romance, 

The  simple  plaining  of  a  minstrel's  song! 
Fair  reader,  at  the  old  tale  take  a  glance, 

For  hear,  in  truth,  it  doth  not  well  belong 
To  speak: — 0  turn  thee  to  the  very  tale, 
And  taste  the  music  of  that  vision  pale. 
With  duller  steel  than  the  Persean  sword 

They  cut  away  no  formless  monster's  head,  • 
But  one  whose  gentleness  did  well  accord 

With  death  as  life.     The  ancient  harps  have  said, 
Love  never  dies,  but  lives,  immortal  lord : 

If  Love  impersonate  was  ever  dead, 
Pale  Isabella  kissed  it,  and  low  moaned. 
'Twas  love ;  cold, — dead  indeed,  but  not  dethroned. 

Keats. 

26.  How  sweet  the  answer  Echo  makes 

To  Music  at  night, 

When,  roused  by  lute  or  horn,  she  wakes; 
And  far  away,  o'er  lawns  and  lakes, 

Goes  answering  light. 


's  ©ml*.  137 


Yet  Love  hath  echoes  truer  far, 

And  far  more  sweet, 
Than  e'er,  beneath  the  moonlight's  star, 
Of  horn,  or  lute,  or  soft  guitar, 

The  songs  repeat. 
'Tis  when  the  sigh  in  youth  sincere, 

And  only  then, — 

The  sigh  that's  breathed  for  one  to  hear, 
Is  by  that  one,  that  only  dear, 

Breathed  back  again  1 

Moore. 

27.  The  cheerful  Sabbath  bells,  wherever  heard, 
Strike  pleasant  on  the  sense,  most  like  the  voice 
Of  one,  who  from  the  far-off  hills  proclaims 
Tidings  of  good  to  Zion:  chiefly  when 
Their  piercing  tones  fall  sudden  on  the  ear 
Of  the  contemplant,  solitary  man, 
Whom  thoughts  abtruse  or  high  have  chanced  to 

lure 

Forth  from  the  walks  of  men,  revolving  oft, 
And  oft  again,  hard  matter,  which  eludes 
And  baffles  his  pursuit — thought-sick  and  tired 
Of  controversy,  where  no  end  appears, 
No  clue  to  his  research,  the  lonely  man 
Half  wishes  for  society  again. 
Him,  thus  engaged,  the  Sabbath  bells  salute 
Sudden!  his  heart  awakes,  his  ears  drink  in 
The  cheering  music ;  his  relenting  soul 
Yearns  after  all  the  joys  of  social  life, 
And  softens  with  the  love  of  human  kind. 

Lamb. 

12* 


138 


28.  Loud  was  the  lightsome  tumult  of  the  shore, 
Oft  music  changed,  but  never  ceased  her  tone, 
And  timely  echoed  back  the  measured  oar, 
And  rippling  waters  made  a  pleasant  moan: 
The  queen  of  tides  on  high  consenting  shone, 
And  when  a  transient  breeze  swept  o'er  the  wave, 
'Twas,  as  if  darting  from  her  heavenly  throne, 

A  brighter  glance  her  form  reflected  gave, 
Till  sparkling  billows  seemed  to  light  the  banks 
they  lave. 

Byron. 

29.  There  was  a  sound  of  revelry  by  night, 
And  Belgium's  capital  had  gathered  then 
Her  beauty  and  her  chivalry,  and  bright 

The  lamps  shone  o'er  fair  women  and  brave  men ; 

A  thousand. hearts  beat  happily;  and  when 

Music  arose  with  its  voluptuous  swell, 

Soft  eyes  looked  loye  to  eyes  which  spake  again, 

And  all  went  merry  as  a  marriage-bell ; 

But  hush!  hark!  a  deep  sound  strikes  like  a  rising 

knell. 

Did  ye  not  hear  it? — No;  'twas  but  the  wind, 
Or  the  car  rattling  o'er  the  stony  street; 
On  with  the  dance!  let  joy  be  unconfined, 
No  sleep  till  morn  when  youth  and  pleasure  meet, 
To  chase  the  glowing  hours  with  flying  feet — 
But,  hark!  that  heavy  sound  breaks  in  once  more, 
As  if  the  clouds  its  echo  would  repeat; 
And  nearer,  clearer,  deadlier  than  before! 
Arm!  arm!  it  is — it  is — the  cannon's  opening  roar! 

Byron. 


Qftt  la&s'jer  ©ratle.  139 

30.  Clear,  placid  Leman !  thy  contrasted  lake, 
With  the  wild  world  I  dwelt  in,  is  a  thing 
Which  warns  me,  with  its  stillness,  to  forsake 
Earth's  troubled  waters  for  a  purer  spring. 
This  quiet  sail  is  as  a  noiseless  wing 

To  waft  me  from  distraction ;  once  I  loved 
Torn  ocean's  roar,  but  thy  soft  murmuring 
Sounds  sweet  as  if  a  sister's  voice  reproved, 
That  I  with  stern  delights  should  e'er  have  been  so 
moved. 

Byron. 

31.  It  is  the  hush  of  night,  and  all  between 

Thy  margin  and  the  mountains,  dusk,  yet  clear, 

Mellowed  and  mingling,  yet  distinctly  seen, 

Save  darkened  Jura,  whose  capt  heights  appear 

Precipitously  steep ;  and,  drawing  near, 

There  breathes  a  living  fragrance  from  the  shore, 

Of  flowers  yet  fresh  with  childhood ;  on  the  ear 

Drops  the  light  drip  of  the  suspended  oar, 

Or  chirps  the  grasshopper  one  good-night  carol 

more: 

He  is  an  evening  reveller,  who  makes 
His  life  an  infancy,  and  sings  his  fill; 
At  intervals,  some  bird  from  out  the  brakes 
Starts  into  voice  a  moment,  then  is  still. 
There  seems  a  floating  whisper  on  the  hill; 
But  that  is  fancy,  for  the  starlight  dews 
All  silently  their  tears  of  love  instil, 
Weeping  themselves  away,  till  they  infuse 
Deep  into  nature's  breast  the  spirit  of  her  hues. 

Byron. 


140  Qft<  3ta&s'js  ©ml*. 


32.  The  sky  is  changed!  —  and  such  a  change!     Oh 

night, 

And  storm,  and  darkness,  ye  are  wondrous  strong, 
Yet  lovely  in  your  strength,  as  is  the  light 
Of  a  dark  eye  in  woman  !    Far  along, 
From  peak  to  peak,  the  rattling  crags  among 
Leaps  the  live  thunder  !    Not  from  one  lone  cloud, 
But  every  mountain  now  hath  found  a  tongue, 
And  Jura  answers,  through  her  misty  shroud, 
Back  to  the  joyous  Alps,  who  call  to  her  aloud! 
And  this  is  in  the  night:  —  most  glorious  night! 
Thou  wert  not  sent  for  slumber  !  let  me  be 
A  sharer  in  thy  fierce  and  far  delight,  — 
A  portion  of  the  tempest  and  of  thee  ! 

Byron. 

33.  A  populous  solitude  of  bees  and  birds, 
And  fairy-formed  and  many-coloured  things, 
Who  worship  him  with  notes  more  sweet  than  words, 
And  innocently  open  their  glad  wings, 

Fearless  and  full  of  life:  the  gush  of  springs, 
And  fall  of  lofty  fountains  and  the  bend 
Of  stirring  branches,  and  the  bud  which  brings 
The  swiftest  thought  of  beauty,  here  extend, 
Mingling,  and  made  by  love,  unto  one  mighty  end. 

Byron. 

34.  Alice!  one  word! 
Let  me  hear  thy  voice  assuring  me  of  life. 

Ah  me  !  that  soft  cheek  brings  me  by  its  touch 
From  the  black,  dizzy,  roaring  brink  of  death, 
At  once  into  the  heart  of  happiness! 

Wilson. 


'js  ©ratit.  141 


35.  Sweet  Mary  Gray  !  thou  hast  a  silver  voice, 
And  wildly  to  thy  native  melodies 

Can  tune  its  flute-like  breath  —  sing  us  a  song, 
And  let  it  be,  even  mid  our  merriment, 
Most  sad,  most  slow,  that  when  its  music  dies, 
We  may  address  ourselves  to  revelry, 
More  passionate  from  the  calm,  as  men  leap  up 
To  this  world's  business  from  some  heavenly  dream. 

Wilson. 

36.  Why  hang  the  sweet  bells  mute  in  Magdalene- 

Tower, 

Still  wont  to  usher  in  delightful  May, 
The  dewy  silence  of  the  morning  hour 
Cheering  with  many  a  changeful  roundelay? 
And  those  pure  youthful  voices,  where  are  they, 
That  hymning  far  up  in  the  listening  sky, 
Seemed  issuing  softly  through  the  gates  of  day, 
As  if  a  troop  of  sainted  souls  on  high 
Were  hovering  o'er  the  earth  with  angel  melody  ? 

Wilson. 

37.  From  the  silent  heart  of  a  hollow  yew, 
The  owl  sailed  forth  with  a  loud  halloo; 
And  his  large  yellow  eyes  looked  bright 
With  wonder,  in  the  wan  moonlight, 
As  hovering  white,  and  still  as  snow, 
He  caught  a  glance  of  the  things  below, 
All  burning  on  the  bridge  like  fire 

In  the  sea-green  glow  of  their  wild  attire. 

"Halloo!  Halloo!  tu-whit!  tu-whoo!" 

Wilson. 


142  QHj*  lefts'*  ©mle. 


38.  Piny  wood  through  which  the  night  wind  roars. 

Barry  Cornwall. 

39.  Come,  Mary  Macintyre  —  give  us  a  song, 
Then  to  our  work  again.     Thou  hast  a  voice 
So  sweet  that  even  the  linnet  on  the  broom 
Might  take  a  lesson  from  thee. 

Wilson. 

40.  0  thou,  vast  Ocean  !    Ever-sounding  sea  I 
Thou  symbol  of  a  drear  immensity  ! 

Thou  thing  that  windest  round  the  solid  world 
Like  a  huge  animal,  which,  downward  hurled 
From  the  black  clouds,  lies  weltering  and  alone, 
Lashing  and  writhing  till  its  strength  be  gone, 
Thy  voice  is  like  the  thunder,  and  thy  sleep 
Is  as  a  giant's  slumber,  loud  and  deep. 

Barry  Cornwall. 

41.  A  sound  is  in  the  silent  night  abroad, 
A  sound  of  broken  waters. 

Milman. 

42.  Blow  music  o'er  the  festal  land,  from  harp 
And  merry  rebeck,  till  the  floating  air 
Seem  harmony;  still  all  fierce  sounds  of  war; 
No  breath  within  the  clarion's  brazen  throat; 
Soft  slumber  in  the  war-steed's  drooping  mane. 

Milman. 

43.  Dimly  mingling  sounds, 
Rushing  of  torrents,  roar  of  prisoned  winds. 

Milman. 


'£  ©ml*.  143 


44.  That  hour,  one  horn  with  long  and  solemn  blast 
Went  wailing  up  the  heavens;   less  shrill,  less 

drear, 

Blew  through  the  fatal  Roncesvalles  pass, 
In  after  times,  Roland's  deep  bugle,  heard 
Dolorous,  so  poets  feign,  on  Paris  wall. 
The  air  seemed  shivering  where  the  knell  passed  on, 
As  with  a  cold  wind  shuddered  the  thick  trees. 

Milman. 

45.  The  thin  whispering  leaves, 

The  welling  water's  flow,  the  lingering,  long, 
Love-dwelling  descant  of  the  joyous  birds 
Came  mingling  with  the  languor  of  his  sense, 
Most  soothing  each  in  turn,  most  slumbering  soft. 

Milman. 

46.  Trumpets  blown 
Of  triumph  calm,  and  hymns  of  festival 
Upon  the  gold  clouds  metropolitan, 
Voices  of  soft  proclaim,  and  silver  stir 
Of  strings  in  hollow  shells. 

Keats. 

47.  Hark! 
'Tis  the  early  April  lark. 

Keats. 

48.  Thou  shalt  hear 
Distant  harvest-carols  clear. 

Keats. 


144  ®f)f  laic's  ©ratlt. 

49.  Never  did  music  sink  into  my  soul 

So  "silver-sweet,"  as  when  thy  first  weak  wail 
On  my  rapt  ear  in  doubtful  murmurs  stole, 
Thou  child  of  love  and  promise !     What  a  tale 
Of  hopes  and  fears,  of  gladness  and  of  gloom, 
Hung  on  that  slender  filament  of  sound! 

A.  A.  Watts. 

50.  Oh !  let  me  hear  that  solemn  strain  again ; 
It  came  upon  me  like  the  ocean's  voice, 
Filling  me  with  lofty  awe! 

Lawrence  Holmes. 


of  tju  fimi  in  ipra  to? 


HE  laverock  loves  the  dewy  light, 
The  bee  the  balmy  foxglove  fair; 
The  shepherd  loves  the  glowing  morn, 
When  song  and  sunshine  fill  the  air: 
But  I  love  best  the  summer  moon, 
With  all  her  stars,  pure  streaming  still ; 
For  then,  in  light  and  love  I  meet 
The  sweet  lass  of  Gleneslan-mill. 

Cunningham. 

2.  Awake,  my  love !  ere  morning's  ray 
Throws  off  night's  weed  of  pilgrim  gray; 
Ere  yet  the  hare,  cowered  close  from  view, 
Licks  from  her  fleece  the  clover  dew: 
Or  wild  swan  shakes  her  snowy  wings, 
By  hunters  roused  from  secret  springs : 
Or  birds  upon  the  boughs  awake, 
Till  green  Arbigland's  woodlands  shake. 

Cunningham. 

13  146 


146  ®f)j  laic's  ©ratlt. 

3.  Till  twilight  ushers  in  the  summer  night: 
And  toil  reposed,  and  stars  were  rising  o'er 
The  inn's  long  gallery  and  its  open  door. 

Hanmer. 

4.  Now  rose  the  sun,  and  shy  and  shamefaced  night 
Fled  downward  from  the  intolerable  light; 
'Neath  the  broad  earth  to  other  stars  she  goes 
On  twilight  wings,  and  seeks  her  loved  repose. 

Hanmer. 

5.  Thou  comest  to  me  by  morn,  my  love,  and  thou  art 

brighter  far, 

Than  the  new  light. 

Hanmer. 

6.  The  morning  broke.     Light  stole  upon  the  clouds 
With  a  strange  beauty.     Earth  received  again 
Its  garment  of  a  thousand  dyes ;  and  leaves, 
And  delicate  blossoms,  and  the  painted  flowers, 
And  every  thing  that  bendeth  to  the  dew, 

And  stirreth  with  the  daylight,  lifted  up 
Its  beauty  to  the  breath  of  that  sweet  morn. 

Willis. 

7.  Day  lit  the  woody  mountains ;  in  the  dell 

Were  heard  the  shepherd's  song  and  wether's  bell; 
The  kid  in  circles  gambolled  on  the  lea, 
And  dew,  like  beauty's  tears,  empearled  each  tree; 
The  lark,  as  winged  with  rapture,  sprang  on  high, 
And  sang  amidst  the  roses  of  the  sky: 
Yes,  all  without  was  brightness,  and  a  voice 
From  wide  creation  seemed  to  cry  "Rejoice!" 

MichelL 


O^i  i,a&s'js  ©rule.  147 

8.  There  is  a  home-felt  stillness  in  the  hour 

When  heaven's  bright  azure  takes  a  deeper  shade, 
And  fragrance  sleeps  in  every  closing  flower; 
Then,  ere  the  amber  glow  is  all  decayed, 
The  volume  or  the  work  aside  is  laid, 
And  the  pleased  mother  views,  with  glistening  eye, 
The  little  games  by  happy  childhood  played, 
Her  fair-haired  girls  all  breathless  running  by, 
With  cries  of  mimic  fear  and  laugh  of  ecstasy. 
When  the  far  clock  hath  tolled  the  hour  of  rest, 
They,  side  by  side,  before  their  mother  kneel, 
And  pray  their  gentle  slumbers  may  be  blest, 
And  their  pure  spirits  dewlike  influence  feel 
Of  grace  and  goodness. — Oh !  what  raptures  steal 
Upon  a  parent's  soul  at  childhood's  prayer! 
That  innocence  might  all  her  sorrows  heal: 
The  lifted  hands,  the  features'  placid  air, 
The  hymn  so  sweetly  lisped,  have  all  enchantment 
there. 

Maldon. 

9.  Upon  that  night,  so  beautiful  and  mild, 

When  heaven  was  all  one  cloud  of  stars  and  dew. 

Anon. 

10.  Hush  'tis  a  holy  hour — the  quiet  room 

Seems  like  a  temple,  while  yon  soft  lamp  sheds 
A  faint  and  starry  radiance  through  the  gloom, 
And  the  sweet  stillness,  down  on  bright  young. 

heads, 

With  all  their  clustering  locks,  untouched  by  care, 
And  bowed,  as  flowers  are  bowed  with  night  in  prayer. 

Hemans. 


148  SHit  J,a&s's  ©ratU. 

11.  How  aromatic  evening  grows?    The  flowers 
And  spicy  shrubs  exhale  like  onycha; 
Spikenard  and  henna  emulate  in  sweets. 
Blest  hour !  which  He,  who  fashioned  it  so  fair, 
So  softly  glowing,  so  contemplative, 

Hath  set,  and  sanctified  to  look  on  man. 

Hillhouse. 

12.  When  cats  run  home  and  light  is  come, 

And  dew  is  cold  upon  the  ground, 

And  the  far-off  stream  is  dumb, 
And  the  whirring  sail  goes  round, 
And  the  whirring  sail  goes  round; 

Alone  and  warming  his  five  wits, 

The  white  owl  in  the  belfry  sits. 

Tennyson. 

13.  When  merry  milkmaids  click  the  latch, 

And  rarely  smells  the  new-mown  hay, 
And  the  cock  hath  sung  beneath  the  thatch 

Twice  or  thrice  his  roundelay, 

Twice  or  thrice  his  roundelay: 
Alone  and  warming  his  five  wits, 
The  white  owl  in  the  belfry  sits. 

Tennyson, 

14.  F  the  glooming  light 
Of  middle  night. 

Tennyson. 

15.  Now  is  done  thy  long  day's  work; 
Fold  thy  palms  across  thy  breast, 

Fold  thine  arms,  turn  to  thy  rest. 

Tennyson. 


'a  ©ml*.  149 


16.  Though  Night  hath  climbed  her  peak  of  highest  noon, 
And  bitter  blasts  the  screaming  autumn  whirl, 
All  night  through  archways  of  the  bridged  pearl, 
And  portals  of  pure  silver  walks  the  moon. 

Tennyson. 

17.  Oh  !  timely  happy,  timely  wise, 
Hearts  that  with  rising  morn  arise  ! 
Eyes  that  the  beam  celestial  view, 
Which  evermore  makes  all  things  new! 
New  every  morning  is  the  love 

Our  wakening  and  uprising  prove; 
Through  sleep  and  darkness  safely  brought, 
Restored  to  life,  and  power,  and  thought. 

Kebk. 

18.  When  the  soft  dews  of  kindly  sleep 
My  wearied  eyelids  gently  steep, 

Be  my  last  thought,  how  sweet  to  rest 
For  ever  on  my  Saviour's  breast. 
Abide  with  me  from  morn  till  eve, 
For  without  Thee  I  cannot  live: 
Abide  with  me  when  night  is  nigh, 
For  without  Thee  I  dare  not  die. 

Mfc 

19.  'Tis  morning  ;  and  the  sun,  with  ruddy  orb 
Ascending,  fires  the  horizon  ;  while  the  clouds, 
That  crowd  away  before  the  driving  wind, 
More  ardent  as  the  disk  emerges  more, 
Resemble  most  some  city  in  a  blaze, 

Seen  through  the  leafless  wood. 

Cowper. 


150  gftje  3UUj'js  ©mlt. 

20.  The  mid-day  sun,  with  fiercest  glare, 
Broods  o'er  the  hazy,  twinkling  air. 

Keble. 

21.  "Stop,  stop,  John  Gilpin! — Here's  the  house" — 

They  all  at  once  did  cry; 
"The  dinner  waits,  and  we  are  tired!" 
Said  Gilpin— "So  am  I!" 

Cowper. 

22.  And  oft  he  traced  the  uplands  to  survey, 
When  o'er  the  sky  advanced  the  kindling  dawn, 
The  crimson  cloud,  blue  main,  and  mountain  gray, 
And  lake,  dim-gleaming  on  the  smoky  lawn : 

Far  to  the  west  the  long,  long  vale  withdrawn, 
Where  twilight  loves  to  linger  for  a  while ; 
And  now  he  faintly  kens  the  bounding  fawn, 
And  villager  abroad  at  early  toil. 
But  lo !  the  sun  appears !  and  heaven,  earth,  ocean, 

smile. 

Beattie. 

23.  The  night  was  Winter  in  his  roughest  mood ; 
The  morning  sharp  and  clear.     But  now  at  noon 
Upon  the  southern  side  of  the  slant  hills, 

And  where  the  woods  fence  off  the  northern  blast 

The  season  smiles,  resigning  all  its  rage, 

And  has  the  warmth  of  May.     The  vault  is  blue 

Without  a  cloud,  and  white  without  a  speck 

The  dazzling  splendor  of  the  scene  below. 

Again  the  harmony  comes  o'er  the  vale ; 

And  through  the  trees  I  view  the  embattled  tower, 

Whence  all  the  music.  v 

Cowper. 


Sfflt  3lalrs'j8  ©mlt.  161 

24.  Come,  Evening,  once  again,  season  of  peace ; 
Return,  sweet  Evening,  and  continue  long ! 
Methinks  I  see  thee  in  the  streaky  west, 

With  matron  step  slow  moving,  while  the  Night 
Treads  on  thy  sweeping  train ;  one  hand  employed 
In  letting  fall  the  curtain  of  repose 
On  bird  and  beast,  the  other  charged  for  man 
With  sweet  oblivion  of  the  cares  of  day. 

Cowper. 

25.  Just  when  our  drawing-rooms  begin  to  blaze 
With  lights,  by  clear  reflection  multiplied 
From  many  a  mirror,  in  which  he  of  Gath, 
Goliath,  might  have  seen  his  giant  bulk 
Whole  without  stooping,  towering  crest  and  all, 
My  pleasures,  too,  begin.     But  me  perhaps 
The  glowing  hearth  may  satisfy  awhile 

With  faint  illumination,  that  uplifts 
The  shadows  to  the  ceiling,  there  by  fits 
Dancing  uncouthly  to  the  quivering  flame. 
Not  undelightful  is  an  hour  to  me 
So  spent  in  parlour  twilight:  such  a  gloom 
Suits  well  the  thoughtful  or  unthinking  mind, 
The  mind  contemplative,  with  some  new  theme 
Pregnant  or  indisposed  alike  to  all. 

Cowper. 

26.  The  Sun  was  sunk,  and  after  him  the  star 
Of  Hesperus,  whose  office  is  to  bring 
Twilight  upon  the  Earth,  short  arbiter 
'Twixt  day  and  night,  and  now  from  end  to  end 
Night's  hemisphere  had  veiled  the  horizon  round. 

Milton. 


152  Hit  iairj's  ©mlt. 

27.  To  hear  the  lark  begin  his  flight, 
And  singing  startle  the  dull  Night, 
From  his  watch-tower  in  the  skies, 
Till  the  dappled  Dawn  doth  rise ; 
Then  to  come,  in  spite  of  sorrow, 
And  at  my  window  bid  good-morrow, 
Through  the  sweet-brier,  or  the  vine, 
Or  the  twisted  eglantine: 

While  the  cock,  with  lively  din, 
Scatters  the  rear  of  Darkness  thin, 
And  to  the  stack  or  the  barn-door 
Stoutly  struts  his  dames  before ; 
Oft  listening  how  the  hounds  and  horn 
Cheerly  rouse  the  slumbering  Morn, 
From  the  side  of  some  hoar  hill, 
Through  the  high  wood  echoing  shrill: 
Some  time  walking,  not  unseen, 
By  hedge-row  elms,  on  hillocks  green, 
Right  against  the  eastern-gate 
Where  the  great  Sun  begins  his  state, 
Robed  in  flames,  and  amber  light, 
The  clouds  in  thousand  liveries  dight: 
While  the  plowman,  near  at  hand, 
Whistles  o'er  the  furrowed  land, 
And  the  milkmaid  singeth  blithe, 
And  the  mower  whets  his  sithe, 
And  every  shepherd  tells  his  tale 
Under  the  hawthorn  in  the  dale. 

Milton. 

28.  At  midnight,  when  mankind  is  wrapt  in  peace, 
And  worldly  fancy  feeds  on  golden  dreams. 

Young. 


's  ©ratlt. 


153 


29.  Now  stir  the  fire,  and  close  the  shutters  fast, 
Let  fall  the  curtains,  wheel  the  sofa  round, 
And  while  the  bubbling  and  loud  hissing  urn 
Throws  up  a  steamy  column,  and  the  cups 
That  cheer  but  not  inebriate,  wait  on  each, 
So  let  us  welcome  peaceful  evening  in. 

Cowper. 

30.  Thus,  Night,  oft  see  me  in  thy  pale  career, 
Till  civil-suited  Morn  appear, 

Not  tricked  and  frounced  as  she  was  wont 

With  the  Attic  boy  to  hunt, 

But  kercheft  in  a  comely  cloud, 

"While  rocking  winds  are  piping  loud, 

Or  ushered  with  a  shower  still 

When  the  gust  hath  blown  his  fill, 

Ending  on  the  rustling  leaves, 

With  minute  drops  from  off  the  eaves. 

Milton. 

31.  Now  Morn,  her  rosy  steps  in  the  eastern  clime 
Advancing,  sowed  the  earth  with  orient  pearl. 

Milton. 


32.  Now  Night  in  silent  state  begins  to  rise,  • 

And  twinkling  orbs  bestrow  the  uncloudy  skies  j 
Her  borrowed  lustre  growing  Cynthia  lends, 
And  on  the  main  a  glittering  path  extends ; 
Millions  of  worlds  hang  in  the  spacious  air, 
Which  round  their  suns  their  annual  circles  steer; 
Sweet  contemplation  elevates  my  sense, 
While  I  survey  the  works  of  Providence. 

Gray. 


154  QCfct  3UiJj>'js  ©ratlt. 

33.  When  night  first  bids  the  twinkling  stars  appear, 
Or  with  her  cloudy  vest  enwraps  the  air. 

Gay. 

34.  Ere  yet  the  morn  dispels  the  fleeting  mists, 
The  signal  given  by  the  loud  trumpet's  voice, 
Now  high  in  air  the  imperial  standard  waves 
Emblazoned  rich  with  gold,  and  glittering  gems, 
And  like  a  sheet  of  fire,  through  the  dun  gloom 
Streaming  meteorous. 

Somervile. 

35.  Sol  through  white  curtains  shot  a  timorous  ray, 
And  oped  those  eyes  that  must  eclipse  the  day: 
Now  lap-dogs  give  themselves  the  rousing  shake, 
And  sleepless  lovers,  just  at  twelve,  awake. 

Pope. 

36.  Falsely  luxurious,  will  not  man  awake ; 
And,  springing  from  the  bed  of  sloth,  enjoy 
The  cool,  the  fragrant,  and  the  silent  hour, 
To  meditation  due  and  sacred  song? 

For  is  there  aught  in  sleep  can  charm  the  wise? 

To  lie  in  dead  oblivion,  losing  half 

The  fleeting  moments  of  too  short  a  life ; 

Total  extinction  of  the  enlightened  soul! 

Or  eke  to  feverish  vanity  alive, 

Wildered,  and  tossing  through  distempered  dreams? 

Who  would  in  such  a  gloomy  state  remain 

Longer  than  nature  craves ;  when  every  Muse 

And  every  blooming  pleasure  wait  without, 

To  bless  the  wildly-devious  morning  walk? 

Thomson. 


QJf)*  3U&j's  ©ratle.  155 

37.  Soon  as  the  morning  trembles  o'er  the  sky, 
And,  unperceived,  unfolds  the  spreading  day. 

Thomson. 

38.  The  lengthened  night  elapsed,  the  morning  shines 
Serene,  in  all  her  dewy  beauty  bright, 
Unfolding  fair  the  last  autumnal  day. 

And  now  the  mounting  Sun  dispels  the  fog, 
The  rigid  hoar-frost  melts  before  his  beam ; 
And  hung  on  every  spray,  on  every  blade 
Of  grass,  the  myriad  dew-drops  twinkle  round. 

Thomson. 

39.  And  now  when  busy  crowds  retire 

To  take  their  evening  rest, 
The  hermit  trimmed  his  little  fire, 
And  cheered  his  pensive  guest. 

Goldsmith. 

40.  Sweet  was  the  sound,  when  oft  at  evening's  close, 
Up  yonder  hill  the  village  murmur  rose ; 
There,  as  I  passed  with  careless  steps  and  slow, 
The  mingling  notes  came  softened  from  below; 
The  swain  responsive  as  the  milk-maid  sung, 
The  sober  herd  that  lowed  to  meet  their  young; 
The  noisy  geese  that  gabbled  o'er  the  pool, 

The  playful  children  just  let  loose  from  school: 
The  watch-dog's  voice  that  bayed  the  whispering 

wind, 

And  the  loud  laugh  that  spoke  the  vacant  mind; 
These  all  in  sweet  confusion  sought  the  shade, 
And  filled  each  pause  the  nightingale  had  made. 

Goldsmith. 


156  2t^  lairs'*?  ©ratle. 

41.  When  morning's  twilight-tinctured  beam 
Strikes  their  low  thatch  with  slanting  gleam, 
They  rove  abroad  in  ether  blue, 

To  dip  the  scythe  in  fragrant  dew; 
The  sheaf  to  bind,  the  beech  to  fell, 
That  nodding  shades  a  craggy  dell. 

Warton. 

42.  So  oft  I  have,  the  evening  still, 
At  the  fountain  of  a  rill, 

Sate  upon  a  flowery  bed, 

With  my  hand  beneath  my  head; 

While  strayed  my  eyes  o'er  Towy's  flood, 

Over  mead  and  over  wood, 

From  house  to  house,  from  hill  to  hill, 

Till  Contemplation  had  her  fill. 

Dyer. 
> 

43.  When  azure  noontide  cheers  the  daedal  globe, 
And  the  blest  regent  of  the  golden  day 
Kejoices  in  his  bright  meridian  tower, 

How  oft  my  wishes  ask  the  night's  return, 
That  best  befriends  the  melancholy  mind ! 

Warton. 

44.  0  come  then,  Melancholy,  queen  of  thought  1 
0  come,  with  saintly  look  and  steadfast  step, 
From  forth  thy  cave  embowered  with  mournful  yew, 
Where  ever  to  the  curfew's  solemn  sound 
Listening  thou  sitt'st,  and  with  thy  cypress  bind 
Thy  votary's  hair,  and  seal  him  for  thy  son. 

Warton. 


'*  ©rwle.  157 


45.  The  morning  finds  the  self-sequestered  man 
Fresh  for  his  task,  intend  what  task  he  may. 
Whether  inclement  seasons  recommend 

His  warm  but  simple  home,  where  he  enjoys 
With  her,  who  shares  his  pleasures  and  his  heart, 
Sweet  converse,  sipping  calm  the  fragrant  lymph 
Which  neatly  she  prepares  ;  then  to  his  book 
Well  chosen,  and  not  sullenly  perused 
In  selfish  silence,  but  imparted  oft, 
As  aught  occurs,  that  she  may  smile  to  hear, 
Or  turn  to  nourishment,  digested  well. 

Cowper. 

46.  Blest  be  the  wild,  sequestered  shade, 

And  blest  the  day  and  hour, 
Where  Peggy's  charms  I  first  surveyed, 

When  first  I  felt  their  power. 

Sums. 

47.  A  rose-bud  by  my  early  walk, 
Adown  a  corn-enclosed  bawk, 
Sae  gently  bent  its  thorny  stalk, 

All  on  a  dewy  morning. 
Ere  twice  the  shades  o'  dawn  are  fled, 
In  a'  its  crimson  glory  spread, 
And  drooping  rich  the  dewy  head, 

It  scents  the  early  morning. 

Burns. 

48.  Sleep'st  thou,  or  wakest  thou,  fairest  creature; 

Rosy  morn  now  lifts  his  eye, 
Numbering  ilka  bud  which  Nature 

Waters  wi'  the  tears  of  joy. 

Burns. 
14 


158  grt«  3U&s'js  ©ml*. 


49.  Hark,  the  mavis'  evening  sang 
Sounding  Clouden's  woods  amang; 
Then  a  faulding  let  us  gang, 
My  bonnie  dearie. 


Burns. 


50.  While  larks  with  little  wing 

Fanned  the  pure  air, 
Tasting  the  breathing  spring, 

Forth  I  did  fare: 
Gay  the  sun's  golden  eye 
Peeped  o'er  the  mountains  high: 
Such  thy  morn!  did  I  cry, 
Phillis  the  fair. 

Burns. 


in  pu  te? 


EASON  of  mists  and  mellow  fruitfulness ! 
Close  bosom-friend  of  the  maturing  sun ; 
Conspiring  with  him  how  to  load  and  bless 
With  fruit  the  vines  that  round  the  thatch-eaves 

run; 

To  bend  with  apples  the  mossed  cottage-trees, 
And  fill  all  fruit  with  ripeness  to  the  core ; 
To  swell  the  gourd,  and  plump  the  hazel-shells 
With  a  sweet  kernel ;  to  set  budding  more, 
And  still  more,  later  flowers  for  the  bees, 
Until  they  think  warm  days  will  never  cease, 
For  summer  has  o'er-brimmed  their  clammy 

cells. 

Keats. 


2.  'Twas  the  soft  season  when  the  sycamore 
Bursts  in  full  foliage,  and  its  pensile  flower 
Doth  all  the  bees  with  its  sweet  breath  invite. 


Hammer. 

169 


160 


B.  When  the  snow  falls 

On  the  old  yew  tree, 
And  the  brook  brawls 

Like  a  river  free, 
And  the  cock  calls 
*       Ere  the  ploughmen  see, 
Then  come  the  wandering  gipsies  to  the  door, 
And  the  dogs  bark,  for  they  look  wild  and  poor. 

Hanmer. 

4.  But  when  November  came  with  cloudy  blast. 

Hanmer. 

5.  The  while  comes  winter  with  his  frosts  behind, 
And  stayeth  either  course,  and  killeth  all  the  kind. 

Hanmer. 

6.  Young  pine,  that  like  a  many-plumed  cacique, 
Thy  tufted  head  dost  in  the  garden  rear, 

;Tis  now  the  first  rejoicing  April  week, 
Now  comes  the  true  renewing  of  the  year; 
For  all  before  was  winter  stern  and  drear 
Warming  his  hands,  where  Tune  (like  Saturn  old 
Devouring  his  own  race)  some  woodland  peer 
Heaped  on  the  fire,  to  save  him  from  the  cold; 
And  men  beside  of  storms  sad  stories  told, 
The  shipwrecks,  and  the  sea-salt  on  the  panes. 
Now  all  the  chestnuts  their  great  buds  unfold, 
And  that  unloving  season  but  remains 
In  sight,  like  some  black  hill  we  leave  behind, 
South  steering  with  a  fair  and  sunny  wind. 

Hanmer. 


161 


7.  It  is  the  winter,  sharp  and  suddenly 

His  angel  frost  hath  breathed  upon  the  land. 

Hanmer. 

8.  Lo !  from  beyond  the  chill  and  dusky  north, 
The  primal  month,  which  leads  the  rolling  year. 

JBoker. 

9.  Now  to  its  second  term  strides  on  the  year, 

And  lengthening  days  foretell  mild  spring  is  near. 
One  day's  warm  sunshine  clears  the  frozen  earth 
Of  ice  and  snow,  until  another  birth 
Of  the  rough  north  whitens  the  softening  land, 
And  binds  the  plains  and  streams  in  winter's 
numbing  band. 

Boker. 

10.  March  the  reeling  trees  is  shaking, 
And  their  withered  twigs  is  breaking 

In  his  nervous  hand; 

While  the  new  loosed  streams  are  dashing, 
Bound  their  rocky  barriers  flashing; 

Or  the  frost-rent  strand 
Crumbles  'neath  their  furious  rushing, 
And  above  the  banks  they're  gushing 

Deluging  the  land. 

Boker. 

11.  To  April  glides  the  changing  year, 

The  month  which  laughs  amid  her  frown ; 
Now  on  her  lids  there  hangs  a  tear, 
Or  weltering  showers  the  meadows  drown; 


162  Qfti  labs'*  ©ml*. 

Then  half  a  smile  the  earth  cheers  up, 

And  nectarous  draughts  the  sunbeams  quaff 
From  the  young  blossom's  brimming  cup; 

Or,  with  one  universal  laugh, 
Nature's  young,  giddy  scions  shout. 

Birds  scream  from  out  the  dancing  trees ; 
The  blue-eyed  violets  wink  about, 

And  toss  their  odours  on  the  breeze ; 
The  gurgling  streams  suck  in  the  springs, 

And  seem  to  leap  along  more  fleet; 
As  on  the  rocky  pathway  rings 

Sound  of  their  twinkling  silver  feet; 
The  grass  steals  forth  with  face  all  wan, 

By  the  life-giving  sun  beguiled, 
To  see  if  surly  March  is  gone — 

All  Nature,  like  a  new-born  child, 
Leaps  on  its  fruitful  mother's  lap, 

To  win  by  its  innoxious  wiles — 
If  such  a  gracious  thing  may  hap — 

Its  great  Creator's  golden  smiles: 
For  there's  a  glory  in  the  hour 

Beyond  what  e'en  the  sun  can  lend, 
Beyond  the  grass  and  opening  flower, 

A  something  in  which  heaven  must  blend. 

Boker. 

12.  What  Witch  could  shape  this  balmy  day 
But  buxom,  blue-eyed,  sweet-breathed  May! 
Peeping  from  the  roses  sheen, 
Peeping  from  the  grasses  green, 
Peeping  through  the  ether  blue, 
And  heard  when  shouts  the  blithe  cuckoo; 


's  ©tatlt.  163 


Or  when  the  blue-bird's  quivering  cry 
Drops,  like  a  sunbeam,  from  the  sky; 
Or  when  the  swallow's  scolding  note 
Seems  in  the  very  ear  to  float, 
Then,  in  a  moment,  far  away, 
You  scarce  can  catch  its  distant  lay. 
All  is  life,  and  all  is  joy  I 

Boker. 

13.  June,  when  roses  deck  the  ground, 
Scatters  sweetest  smells  around; 
Flowers  which  choicest  breath  exhale, 
Bushes,  trees,  and  vines  that  trail 
On  trellis  or  along  the  ground, 

In  full-blown  majesty  abound. 

Birds,  within  the  close-leaved  groves, 

Whisper  to  their  near  perched  loves  ; 

'Neath  the  graceful  panther  steals 

Purring  at  his  coy  dame's  heels  ; 

While  the  now  all-fearless  deer 

His  agile  foeman  passes  near, 

Trailing  towards  the  herded  does  ; 

Or,  with  locked  horns,  and  sharp  hoofs  blows, 

Wrestles  with  some  rival  bold, 

Tangled  in  his  antler's  bold. 

Boker. 

14.  At  last,  mid  bleak  December's  awful  ice, 

The  earth-worn  wanderer  sadly  sits  him  down. 
But  earthly  joys  no  longer  him  entice, 
Eternal  thoughts  his  palsied  senses  drown, 
And  gathering  doubts  around  him  darkly  frown. 

Boker. 


164  t$fo  3U&s'«  ©ml*. 


15.  The  yellow  leaves  which  now  appear 

Upon  the  trees'  green  heads, 
Like  those  first  warnings,  wan  and  drear, 

Which  Time  departing  spreads 
Among  the  locks,  from  day  to  day, 

To  warn  us  of  the  tomb, 
Foretell  how  autumn's  slow  decay 

Shall  rob  them  of  their  bloom. 

BoJcer. 

16.  I  see  thee  springing  in  the  vernal  time, 

A  sapling  weak  from  out  the  barren  stone, 
To  dance  with  May  upon  the  mountain  peak; 
Pale  leaves  put  forth  to  greet  the  genial  clime, 
And  roots  shoot  down  life's  sustenance  to  seek, 
While  mere  existence  was  a  joy  alone. 

Boker. 

17.  A  spirit  haunts  the  year's  last  hours 
Dwelling  amid  these  yellowing  bowers: 

To  himself  he  talks ; 
For  at  eventide,  listening  earnestly, 
At  his  work  you  may  hear  him  sob  and  sigh 
In  the  walks ; 

Earthward  he  boweth  the  heavy  stalks 
Of  the  mouldering  flowers: 

Heavily  hangs  the  broad  sunflower 

Over  its  grave  in  the  earth  so  chilly; 
Heavily  hangs  the  hollyhock, 
Heavily  hangs  the  tiger-lily. 

Tennyson. 


's  ©ratli.  165 


18.  How  fall  of  life, 

The  life  of  song,  and  breezes,  and  free  wings, 
Is  all  the  murmuring  shade!  and  thine,  0  thine! 
Of  all  the  brightest  and  the  happiest  here, 
My  blessed  child!  my  gift  of  God!  that  makest 
My  heart  o'erflow  with  summer  ! 

Hemans. 

19.  "Where  sucks  the  bee  now?    Summer  is  flying, 
Leaves  on  the  grass-plot  faded  are  lying; 
Violets  are  gone  from  the  grassy  dell, 

With  the  cowslip-cups  where  the  fairies  dwell; 
The  rose  from  the  garden  hath  passed  away. 

Hemans. 

20.  Old  Winter's  last  greeting, 
As  slowly  retreating, 
Snow  flying,  hail  beating; 

The  warrior  grim 
His  last  stand  is  making, 
His  last  lance  is  breaking, 
His  last  vengeance  taking, 

His  glories  grow  dim. 

BoJcer. 

21.  Oh  day  of  days!  shall  hearts  set  free 
No  "minstrel  rapture"  find  for  Thee? 
Thou  art  the  Sun  of  other  days, 
They  shine  by  giving  back  thy  rays: 
Enthroned  in  thy  sovereign  sphere 
Thou  shedd'st  thy  light  on  all  the  year: 
Sundays  by  Thee  more  glorious  break, 
An  Easter  Day  in  every  week. 

Eebk. 


166  ®f)*  &a&£'js  ©lath 


22.  Not  till  the  freezing  blast  is  still, 
Till  freely  leaps  the  sparkling  rill, 

And  gales  sweep  soft  from  summer  skies, 
As  o'er  a  sleeping  infant's  eyes 
A  mother's  kiss  ;  ere  calls  like  these, 
No  sunny  gleam  awakes  the  trees, 
Nor  dare  the  tender  flowerets  show 
Their  bosoms  to  the  uncertain  glow. 

KebU. 

23.  Well  may  I  guss  and  feel 

Why  Autumn  should  be  sad; 
But  vernal  airs  should  sorrow  heal, 
Spring  should  be  gay  and  glad. 

KebU. 

24.  It  was  the  winter  wild, 
While  the  heaven-born  child 

All  meanly  wrapt  in  the  rude  manger  lies, 
Nature  in  awe  to  him 
Has  doffed  her  gaudy  trim, 

With  her  great  Master  so  to  sympathize: 
It  was  no  season  then  for  her 
To  wanton  with  the  Sun,  her  lusty  paramour. 

Milton. 

25.  In  simmer  when  the  hay  was  mawn, 

And  corn  waved  green  in  ilka  field, 
While  claver  blooms  white  o'er  the  lea, 
And  roses  blaw  in  ilka  bield. 

Burns. 


'a  ©rail*. 


167 


26.  The  clouds  that  wrap  the  setting  sun 

When  autumn's  softest  gleams  are  ending, 
Where  all  bright  hues  together  run 

In  sweet  confusion  blending: — 
Why,  as  we  watch  their  floating  wreath, 
Seem  they  the  breath  of  life  to  breathe? 
To  Fancy's  eye  their  motions  prove 
They  mantle  round  the  sun  for  love. 

Keble. 

27.  Red  o'er  the  forest  peers  the  setting  sun, 

The  line  of  yellow  light  dies  fast  away 
That  crowned  the  eastern  copse;  and  chill  and  dun 
Falls  on  the  moor  the  brief  November  day. 

Keble. 


28.  Who  says,  the  wan  autumnal  sun 

Beams  with  too  faint  a  smile 
To  light  up  nature's  face  again, 
And,  though  the  year  be  on  the  wane, 

With  thoughts  of  spring  the  heart  beguile? 
Waft  him,  thou  soft  September  breeze, 

And  gently  lay  him  down 
Within  some  circling  woodland  wall, 
Where  bright  leaves,  reddening  ere  they  fall, 

Wave  gayly  o'er  the  waters  brown. 
And  let  some  graceful  arch  be  there 

With  wreathed  mullions  proud, 
With  burnished  ivy  for  its  screen, 
And  moss,  that  glows  as  fresh  and  green 

As  though  beneath  an  April  cloud. 

Keble, 


168  Wbt  ?La&s'5  ©mie. 


29.  Soon  o'er  their  heads  blithe  April  airs  shall  sing, 

A  thousand  wild-flowers  round  them  shall  unfold, 
The  green  buds  glisten  in  the  dews  of  spring, 
And  all  be  vernal  rapture  as  of  old. 

Keble. 

30.  Dear  is  the  morning  gale  of  spring, 

And  dear  the  autumnal  eve; 
But  few  delights  can  summer  bring 

A  poet's  crown  to  weave. 
Her  bowers  are  mute,  her  fountains  dry, 

And  ever  Fancy's  wing 
Speeds  from  beneath  her  cloudless  sky, 

To  autumn  or  to  spring. 

Keble, 

31.  Why  blow'st  thou  not,  thou  wintry  wind, 

Now  every  leaf  is  brown  and  sere, 
And  idly  droops,  to  thee  resigned, 

The  fading  chaplet  of  the  year? 
Yet  wears  the  pure  aerial  sky 
Her  summer  veil,  half  drawn  on  high, 
Of  silvery  haze,  and  dark  and  still 
The  shadows  sleep  on  every  slanting  hill. 

Keble. 

32.  Mindful  of  disaster  past, 

And  shrinking  at  the  northern  blast, 
The  sleety  storm  returning  still, 
The  morning  hoar,  and  evening  chill ; 
Reluctant  comes  the  timid  spring. 

Warton. 


©ratle.  169 


33.  0  Winter,  ruler  of  the  inverted  year, 

Thy  scattered  hair  with  sleet  like  ashes  filled, 
Thy  breath  congealed  upon  thy  lips,  thy  cheeks 
Fringed  with  a  beard  made  white  with  other  snows 
Than  those  of  age,  thy  forehead  wrapped  in  clouds, 
A  leafless  branch  thy  sceptre,  and  thy  throne 
A  sliding  car,  indebted  to  no  wheels, 
But  urged  by  storms  along  its  slippery  way, 
I  love  thee,  all  unlovely  as  thou  seem'st, 
And  dreaded  as  thou  art! 

Cowper. 

34.  Pale  humid  winter  loves  the  generous  board, 
The  meal  more  copious,  and  the  warmer  fare  ; 
And  longs  with  old  wood  and  old  wine  to  cheer 
His  quaking  heart. 

Armstrong. 

35.  Through  autumn's  languishing  domain 
Descending,  Nature  by  degrees  invites 
To  glowing  luxury. 

Armstrong. 

36.  When  the  fresh  spring  in  all  her  state  is  crowned, 
And  high  luxuriant  grass  o'erspreads  the  ground. 

Gay. 

37.  Now  golden  autumn  from  her  open  lap 

Her  fragrant  bounties  showers;  the  fields  are  shorn; 

Inwardly  smiling,  the  proud  farmer  views 

The  rising  pyramids  that  grace  his  yard, 

And  counts  his  large  increase  ;  his  barns  are  stored 

And  groaning  staddles  bend  beneath  their  load. 

Somervtte. 
15 


170  Qftt  SU&s'a  ©ml*. 


38.  Ere  yet  the  sun  through  the  bright  Ram  has  urged 
His  steepy  course,  or  mother  Earth  unbound 

Her  frozen  bosom  to  the  western  gale  ; 

When  feathered  troops,  their  social  leagues  dis- 

solved, 

Select  their  mates,  and  on  the  leafless  elm 
The  noisy  rook  builds  high  her  wicker  nest. 

Somervile. 

39.  In  that  soft  season,  when  descending  showers 
Call  forth  the  greens,  and  wake  the  rising  flowers  ; 
When  opening  buds  salute  the  welcome  day, 
And  earth  relenting  feels  the  genial  ray  ; 

As  balmy  sleep  had  charmed  my  cares  to  rest, 
And  love  itself  was  banished  from  my  breast, 
(What  time  the  morn  mysterious  visions  brings, 
While  purer  slumbers  spread  their  golden  wings,) 
A  train  of  phantoms  in  wild  order  rose, 
And  joined,  this  intellectual  scene  compose. 

Pope. 

40.  Home,  from  his  morning  task,  the  swain  retreats, 
His  flock  before  him  stepping  to  the  fold: 
While  the  full-uddered  mother  lows  around 

The  cheerful  cottage,  then  expecting  food, 
The  food  of  innocence  and  health  !     The  daw, 
The  rook,  and  magpie,  to  the  gray-grown  oaks 
That  the  calm  village  in  their  verdant  arms, 
Sheltering,  embrace,  direct  their  lazy  flight; 
Where  on  the  mingling  boughs  they  sit  embowered, 
All  the  hot  noon,  till  cooler  hours  arise. 

Thomson. 


's  ©ratli.  171 


41.  From  brightening  fields  of  ether  fair  disclosed, 
Child  of  the  sun,  refulgent  summer  comes, 

In  pride  of  youth,  and  felt  through  nature's  depth: 
He  comes  attended  by  the  sultry  hours, 
And  ever-fanning  breezes,  on  his  way; 
While  from  his  ardent  look  the  turning  spring 
Averts  her  blushful  face  ;  and  earth  and  skies, 
All  smiling,  to  his  hot  dominion  leaves. 

Thomson. 

42.  Crowned  with  the  sickle  and  the  wheaten  sheaf, 
While  autumn,  nodding  o'er  the  yellow  plain, 
Comes  jovial  on. 

Thomson. 

43.  Hence  from  the  busy  joy-resounding  fields, 
In  cheerful  error,  let  us  tread  the  maze 

Of  autumn  unconfined  ;  and  taste,  revived, 
The  breath  of  orchard  big  with  bending  fruit. 
Obedient  to  the  breeze  and  beating  ray, 
From  the  deep-loaded  bough  a  mellow  shower 
Incessant  melts  away. 

Thomson. 

44.  Now  all  amid  the  rigours  of  the  year, 

In  the  wild  depth  of  winter,  while  without 
The  ceaseless  winds  blow  ice,  be  my  retreat, 
Between  the  groaning  forest  and  the  shore, 
Beat  by  the  boundless  multitude  of  waves, 
A  rural,  sheltered,  solitary  scene; 
Where  ruddy  fire  and  beaming  tapers  join, 
To  cheer  the  gloom. 

Thomson. 


172  gflj*  3UiJs'js 


45.  See  winter  comes,  to  rule  the  varied  year, 
Sullen  and  sad,  with  all  his  rising  train, 
Vapours,  and  clouds,  and  storms.     Be  these  my 

theme ! 

These!  that  exalt  the  soul  to  solemn  thought, 
And  heavenly  musing.     Welcome,  kindred  glooms ! 
Congenial  horrors,  hail !  with  frequent  foot, 
Pleased  have  I,  in  my  cheerful  morn  of  life, 
When  nursed  by  careless  solitude  I  lived, 
And  sung  of  Nature  with  unceasing  joy, 
Pleased  have  I  wandered   through   your   rough 

domain ; 

Trod  the  pure  virgin-snows,  myself  as  pure; 
Heard  the  winds  roar,  and  the  big  torrent  burst ; 
Or  seen  the  deep  fermenting  tempest  brewed 
In  the  grim  evening  sky.     Thus  passed  the  time, 
Till  through  the  lucid  chambers  of  the  south 
Looked  out  the  joyous  spring,  looked  out  and  smiled. 

Thomson. 

46.  Now  when  the  cheerless  empire  of  the  sky 
To  Capricorn  the  Centaur  Archer  yields, 
And  fierce  Aquarius  stains  the  inverted  year; 
Hung  o'er  the  farthest  verge  of  heaven,  the  sun 
Scarce  spreads  through  ether  the  dejected  day. 
Faint  are  his  gleams,  and  ineffectual  shoot 
His  struggling  rays,  in  horizontal  lines, 
Through  the  thick  air ;  as,  clothed  in  cloudy  storm, 
Weak,  wan,  and  broad,  he  skirts  the  southern  sky; 
And,  soon  descending,  to  the  long  dark  night, 
Wide-shading  all,  the  prostrate  world  resigns. 

Thomson. 


'a  ©ml*. 


47.  Let  others  love  soft  summer's  evening  smiles, 
As,  listening  to  the  distant  water-fall, 

They  mark  the  blushes  of  the  streaky  west; 
I  choose  the  pale  December's  foggy  glooms. 
Then,  when  the  sullen  shades  of  evening  close, 
Where  through  the  room  a  blindly  glimmering 

gleam 

The  dying  embers  scatter,  far  remote 
From  Mirth's  mad  shouts,  that  through  the  illumined 

roof 

Resound  with  festive  echo,  let  me  sit, 
Blest  with  the  lowly  cricket's  drowsy  dirge. 
Then  let  my  thought  contemplative  explore 
This  fleeting  state  of  things,  the  vain  delights, 
The  fruitless  toils,  that  still  our  search  elude, 
As  through  the  wilderness  of  life  we  rove. 

Warton. 

48.  0  May,  thy  morn  was  ne'er  sae  sweet 
As  the  mirk  night  o'  December. 

Burns. 

49.  The  smiling  spring  comes  in  rejoicing, 

And  surly  winter  grimly  flies : 
Now  crystal  clear  are  the  falling  waters, 
And  bonnie  blue  are  the  sunny  skies; 
Fresh  o'er  the  mountains  breaks  forth  the  morn- 
ing, 

The  evening  gilds  the  ocean's  swell, 
All  creatures  joy  in  the  sun's  returning, 
And  I  rejoice  in  my  bonnie  Bell. 

Burns. 

16* 


174 


50.  Lessons  sweet  of  spring  returning, 

Welcome  to  the  thoughtful  heart! 
May  I  call  ye  sense  or  learning, 

Instinct  pure,  or  heaven-taught  art? 
Be  your  title  what  it  may, 
Sweet  and  lengthening  April  day, 
While  with  you  the  soul  is  free, 
Banging  wild  o'er  hill  and  lea. 


Kebk. 


is  pur  tararib  /ter? 


IpERE'S  the  lily  of  the  vale, 

That  perfumed  the  morning  gale, 

My  fairy  Mary  Lee  I 

All  so  spotless  and  so  pale, 

Like  thine  own  purity. 

And,  might  I  make  it  known, 

'Tis  an  emblem  of  my  own 

Love — if  I  dare  so  name 

My  esteem  for  thee. 

Surely  flowers  can  bear  no  blame, 

My  bonny  Mary  Lee! 

John  Clare. 

2.  Here's  the  violet,  modest  blue, 

That  'neath  hawthorns  hides  from  view, 

My  gentle  Mary  Lee, 
Would  show  whose  heart  is  true, 

While  it  thinks  of  thee. 
While  they  choose  each  lowly  spot, 

The  sun  disdains  them  not: 

176 


176  gtf)i  i,a&j'js  ©ml*. 


I'm  as  lowly,  too,  indeed, 

My  charming  Mary  Lee, 
So  I've  brought  the  flowers  to  plead, 

And  win  a  smile  from  thee. 

Clare. 

3.  Here's  a  wild  rose  just  in  bud ; 
Spring's  beauty  in  its  hood, 

My  bonny  Mary  Lee! 
'Tis  the  first  in  all  the  wood 

I  could  find  for  thee. 
Though  a  blush  is  scarcely  seen, 
Yet  it  hides  its  worth  within, 
Like  my  love;  for  I've  no  power, 

My  angel,  Mary  Lee, 
To  speak,  unless  the  flower 

Can  make  excuse  for  me. 

Clare. 

4.  We  are  slumbering  poppies, 

Lords  of  Lethe  downs, 
Some  awake,  and  some  asleep, 

Sleeping  in  our  crowns. 
What  perchance  our  dreams  may  know, 
Let  our  serious  beauty  show. 
Central  depth  of  purple, 

Leaves  more  bright  than  rose, — 
Who  shall  tell  what  brightest  thought 

Out  of  darkest  grows? 
Who,  through  what  funereal  pain, 
Souls  to  love  and  peace  attain? 

Leigh  Hunt. 


®l>*  lairs'*  ©rwU.  177 

5.  We  are  blushing  roses, 

Bending  with  our  fulness, 
Midst  our  close-capped  sister  buda      , 

Warming  the  green  coolness. 
Whatsoe'er  of  beauty 

Yearns  and  yet  reposes, 
Blush,  and  bosom,  and  sweet  breath, 

Took  a  shape  in  roses. 
Hold  one  of  us  lightly, — 

See  from  what  a  slender 
Stalk  we  bower  in  heavy  blooms, 

And  roundness  rich  and  tender: 
Know  you  not  our  only 

Rival  flower, — the  human? 
Loveliest  weight  on  lightest  foot, 

Joy-abundant  woman? 

Hunt. 

6.  Ye  field  flowers !  the  gardens  eclipse  you,  'tis  true, 
Yet,  wildings  of  nature,  I  dote  upon  you, 

For  ye  waft  me  to  summers  of  old, 
When  the  earth  teemed  around  me  with  fairy  delight, 
And  when  daisies  and  buttercups  gladdened  my  sight, 

Like  treasures  of  silver  and  gold. 

i  Campbell. 

7.,  The  rose  was  rich  in  bloom  on  Sharon's  plain. 

Hemans. 

8.  Laburnum,  rich 

In  streaming  gold. 

Cowper. 


178  &fr  iais'js  ©role. 


9.  We  are  lilies  fair, 

.  The  flower  of  virgin  light; 
Nature  held  us  forth,  and  said, 

"Lo!  my  thoughts  of  white." 
Ever  since  then,  angels 

Hold  us  in  their  hands; 
You  may  see  them  where  they  take 

In  pictures  their  sweet  stands. 
Like  the  garden's  angels 

Also  do  we  seem; 
And  not  the  less  for  being  crowned 

With  a  golden  dream. 
Could  you  see  around  us 

The  enamoured  air, 
You  would  see  it  pale  with  bliss 

To  hold  a  thing  so  fair. 

Hunt. 

10.  Copious  of  flowers  the  woodbine,  pale  and  wan, 
But  well  compensating  her  sickly  looks 

With  never-cloying  odours,  early  and  late. 

Cowper. 

11.  Hypericum,  all  bloom,  so  thick  a  swarm 

Of  flowers,  like  flies  clothing  her  slender  rods, 
That  scarce  a  leaf  appears. 

Cowper. 

12.  Mezereon,  too, 
Though  leafless,  well  attired,  and  thick  beset 
With  blushing  wreaths,  investing  every  spray. 

Cowper. 


4- 

3U&s'js  ©rode.  179 


13.  The  lilac,  various  in  array,  now  white, 

Now  sanguine,  and  her  beauteous  head  now  set 
With  purple  spikes  pyramidal,  as  if 
Studious  of  ornament,  yet  unresolved 
Which  hue  she  most  approved,  she  chose  them  all; 

Cowp&r. 

14.  The  broom 
Yellow  and  bright,  as  bullion  unalloyed, 

Her  blossoms. 

Cowper. 

15.  Luxuriant  above  all, 

The  jasmine,  throwing  wide  her  elegant  sweets, 
The  deep  dark  green  of  whose  unvarnished  leaf 
Makes  more  conspicuous,  and  illumines  more 
The  bright  profusion  of  her  scattered  stars. 

Cowper. 

16.  A  beam  upon  the  myrtle  fell 

From  dewy  evening's  purest  sky, 
'Twas  like  the  glance  I  love  so  well, 

Dear  Eva,  from  thy  moonlight  eye. 
I  looked  around  the  summer  grove, 

On  every  tree  its  lustre  shone ; 
For  all  had  felt  that  look  of  love 

The  silly  myrtle  deemed  its  own. 
Eva!  behold  thine  image  there, 

As  fair,  as  false  thy  glances  fall; 
But  who  the  worthless  smile  would  share 

That  sheds  its  light  alike  on  all? 

Drake. 


180 


17.  Our  rocks  are  rough,  but  smiling  there 
The  acacia  waves  her  yellow  hair, 
Lonely  and  sweet,  nor  loved  the  less 

For  flowering  in  a  wilderness 

Then  come — thy  Arab  maid  will  be 
The  loved  and  lone  acacia  tree. 

Moore. 

18.  Cowslips  wan  that  hang  the  pensive  head. 

Milton. 

19.  The  slender  bryony  that  weaves 

His  pale  green  flowers  and  glossy  leaves 
Aloft  in  smooth  and  lithe  festoons ; 
And  crowned  compact  with  yellow  cones, 
Mid  purple  petals  dropped  with  green, 
The  woody  nightshade  climbs  between. 

Mant. 

20.  Sweet  blooms  genista  in  the  myrtle  shade. 

Darwin. 

21.  With  solemn  adoration  down  they  cast 

Their  crowns,  inweve  with  amaranth  and  gold; 

Immortal  amaranth,  a  flower  which  once 

In  Paradise,  fast  by  the  tree  of  life, 

Began  to  bloom ;  but  soon  for  man's  offence 

To  heaven  removed,  where  first  it  grew,  there  grows, 

And  flowers  aloft,  shading  the  fount  of  life, 

And  where  the  river  of  bliss  through  midst  of  heaven 

Rolls  o'er  Elysian  flowers  her  amber  stream, 

With  those  that  never  fade. 

Milton. 


'js  ©mle.  181 


22.  Nightshade's  purple  flowers, 
Hanging  so  sleepily  their  turbancd  heads, 
Rested  upon  the  hedge. 

Twamley. 

23.  I  wander  out  and  rhyme  ; 
"What  hour  the  dewy  morning's  infancy 
Hangs  on  each  blade  of  grass  and  ev.ery  tree, 
And  sprents  the  red  thighs  of  the  humble  bee, 
Who  'gins  betimes  unwearied  minstrelsy; 
Who  breakfasts,  dines,  and  most  divinely  sups, 
With  every  flower  save  golden  buttercups,  — 
On  whose  proud  bosoms  he  will  never  go, 

But  passes  by  with  scarcely  "how  do  ye  do," 
Since  in  their  showy,  shining,  gaudy  cells 
Haply  the  summer's  honey*  never  dwells. 

9  Clare. 

24.  When  once  the  sun  sinks  in  the  west, 
And  dew-drops  pearl  the  evening's  breast; 
Almost  as  pale  as  moonbeams  are, 

Or  its  companionable  star, 
The  evening  primrose  opes  anew 
Its  delicate  blossoms  to  the  dew; 
And,  hermit-like,  shunning  the  light, 
Wastes  its  fair  bloom  upon  the  Night, 
Who,  blindfold  to  its  fond  caresses, 
Knows  not  the  beauty  he  possesses. 
Thus  it  blooms  on  while  Night  is  by; 
When  Day  looks  out  with  open  eye, 
'Bashed  at  the  gaze  it  cannot  shun, 
It  faints,  and  withers,  and  is  gone. 

Clare. 

16 


182  fjftt  3U&s'5  ©mlt. 


TRAVELLER'S  JOT. 

25.  Who  gave  to  thee  that  name, 

i    So  full  of  homely  and  most  pleasant  thought? 

Its  charm  might  win  renown 
For  many  a  thing  with  far  less  beauty  fraught. 

There's  something  in  it  tells 
Of  wanderings  ended  brightly; — of  the  close, 

Mid  old  familiar  scenes, 
Of  the  tired  wayfarer's  amount  of  woes. 

Wert  thou  the  humblest  flower 
That  we  e'er  scorn  with  that  rude  term,  "a  weed," 

Thy  name  would  unto  me 
For  kindly  thought  and  pleasant  fancies  plead. 

But  thou  art  beautiful, 
And  our  sole  native  of  thy  graceful  band, 

Which  we  so  prize,  and  seek, 
In  varied  form  and  hue,  through  many  a  land. 

How  often  have  I  paused, 
A  joyous  traveller,  in  sooth  to  cull 

A  garland  of  thy  flowers, 

When  with  faint  sweets  the  sun  had  filled  them  full. 

TwamUy. 

26.  The  cranberry  blossom  dwelleth  there 

Amid  the  mountains  cold, 
Seeming  like  a  fairy  gift 

Left  on  the  dreary  wold. 
Oh  1  and  'tis  very  beautiful, 

The  flowers  are  pink  and  white, 
And  the  small  oval  polished  leaves 

Are  evergreen  and  bright. 


'jJ  ©mlt.  183 


'Tis  such  a  wee,  fair,  dainty  thing, 

You'd  think  a  greenhouse  warm 
Would  be  its  proper  dwelling-place, 

Kept  close  from  wind  and  storm. 
But  on  the  moors  it  dwelleth  free 

Like  a  fearless  mountain  child ; 
With  a  rosy  cheek,  a  lightsome  look, 

And  a  spirit  strong  and  wild. 
The  bushes  all  in  water  grow, 

In  those  small  pools  that  lie 
In  scores  among  the  turfy  knolls 

On  mountains  broad  and  high. 

Twamley. 

27.  0  reader!  hast  thou  ever  stood  to  see 
The  holly  tree? 

The  eye  that  contemplates  it  well  perceives 
Its  glossy  leaves ; 

O  •/ 

Ordered  by  an  Intelligence  so  wise 
As  might  confound  an  atheist's  sophistries. 
Below  a  circling  fence  its  leaves  are  seen 
Wrinkled  and  keen! 

No  grazing  cattle  through  their  prickly  round 
Can  reach  to  wound; 

But,  as  they  grow  where  nothing  is  to  fear, 
Smooth  and  unarmed  the  pointless  leaves  appear. 

Southey. 

28.  Thine  full  many  a  pleasing  bloom 
Of  blossoms  lost  to  all  perfume ; 
Thine  the  dandelion  flowers, 

Gilt  with  dew  like  sun  with  showers. 

Clare. 


184  QJfre  la&s's  ©ml*. 


29.  Like  to  an  almond-tree,  mounted  high 
On  top  of  green  Selinis,  all  alone, 
With  blossoms  brave  bedecked  daintily; 
Whose  tender  locks  do  tremble  every  one, 

At  every  little  breath  that  under  heaven  is  blown. 

Spenser. 

30.  Bring  lilies  for  a  maiden's  grave, 

Roses  to  deck  the  bride, 
Tulips  for  all  who  love  through  life 

In  brave  attire  to  ride: 
Bring  each  for  each,  in  bower  and  hall, 
But  cull  the  columbine  for  all. 
The  columbine?    Full  many  a  flower 

Hath  hues  more  clear  and  bright, 
Although  she  doth  in  purple  go, 

In  crimson,  pink,  and  white. 
Why,  when  so  many  fairer  shine 
Why  choose  the  homely  columbine? 
Know  ye  the  cap  which  Folly  wears 

In  ancient  masques  and  plays? 
Does  not  the  columbine  recall 

That  toy  of  olden  days? 
And  is  not  Folly  reigning  now 
O'er  many  a  wisdom-written  brow? 
'Tis  Folly's  flower,  that  homely  one; 

That  universal  guest 
Makes  every  garden  but  a  type 

Of  every  human  breast  ; 
For  though  ye  tend  both  mind  and  bower, 
There's  still  a  nook  for  Folly's  flower. 

Tuoamley. 


QHit  i/a&j's  ©rwle.  •    185 

31.  On  scaly  stem,  with  cottony  down, 
O'erlaid,  its  lemon-coloured  crown, 
Which  drooped  unclosed,  but  now  erect, 
The  colts-foot  bright  develops ;  decked 
(Ere  yet  the  impurpled  stalk  displays 

Its  dark  green  leaves)  with  countless  rays, 
Round  countless  tubes,  alike  in  dye, 
Expanded. 

Mant. 

32.  Yonder  is  a  girl  who  lingers 
Where  wild  honeysuckle  grows, 
Mingled  with  the  brier  rose. 

H.  Smith. 

33.  A  sweeter  spot  on  earth  was  never  found: 

I  looked,  and  looked,  and  still  with  new  delight; 
Such  joy  my  soul,  such  pleasures  filled  my  sight; 
And  the  fresh  eglantine  exhaled  a  breath, 
Whose  odours  were  of  power  to  raise  from  death. 

Dryden. 

34.  The  green  and  graceful  fern, 

How  beautiful  it  is ! 
There's  not  a  leaf  in  all  the  land 

So  wonderful,  I  wis. 
Have  ye  ever  watched  it  budding, 

With  each  stem  and  leaf  wrapped  small, 
Coiled  up  within  each  other 

Like  a  round  and  hairy  ball? 
Have  ye  watched  that  ball  unfolding 

Each  closely  nestling  curl, 
And  its  fair  and  feathery  leaflets 

Their  spreading  forms  unfurl? 


186  IRftt  3,afcj'j&  ©ml*. 

Oh !  then  most  gracefully  they  wave 

In  the  forest,  like  a  sea, 
And  dear  as  they  are  beautiful 

Are  these  fern  leaves  to  me. 
For  all  of  early  childhood — 

Those  past  and  blessed  years 
To  which  we  ever  wistfully 

Look  back  through  memory's  tears — 
The  sports  and  fancies  then  my  own, 

Those  fern  leaves  dear  and  wild 
Bring  back  to  my  delighted  breast — 

I  am  once  more  a  child. 

Tvoamley. 

35.  Fair  maidens,  I'll  sing  you  a  song; 

I'll  tell  you  the  bonny  wild  flower, 
Whose  blossoms  so  yellow,  and  branches  so  long, 
O'er  moor  and  o'er  rough  rocky  mountain  are  flung, 

Far  away  from  trim  garden  and  bower. 
It  clings  to  the  crag,  and  it  clothes  the  wild  hill; 

It  stands  sturdily  breasting  the  storm, 

When  the  loud-voiced  winds  sing  so  drearily  shrill, 

And  the  snow-flakes  in  eddies  fall  silent  and  still, 

And  the  shepherd  can  scarce  wrap  him  warm. 

'Tis  the  bonny  bright  gorse,  that  gleams  cheerily 

forth, 

Like  sunlight  e'er  lingering  here, 
In  the  verdure  of  spring,  and  when  summer  on 

earth 

Has  called  all  the  fairest  of  blossoms  to  birth, 
As  a  crown  for  the  noon  of  the  year. 

Twamley. 


SHJe  3U&2'5  ©ratlt.  187 

36.  The  foxgloves  and  the  fern, 

How  gracefully  they  grow, 
With  grand  old  oaks  above  them 

And  wavy  grass  below! 
The  stately  trees  stand  round 

Like  columns  fair  and  high, 
And  the  spreading  branches  bear 

A  glorious  canopy 
Of  leaves,  that  rustling  wave 

In  the  whispering  summer  air, 
And  gayly  greet  the  sunbeams 

That  are  falling  brightly  there. 
The  miser-leaves ! — they  suffer 

Not  a  gleam  to  twinkle  through, 
And  in  the  foxglove's  hairy  cup, 

At  noonday,  drops  of  dew 
Are  hanging  round  like  tears 

Of  sorrow,  that  the  sun 
Gives  to  other  flowers  his  kisses, 

But  to  her  soft  lips  not  one. 

Twamley. 

37.  Oh!  come  to  the  river's  rim,  come  with  us  there, 
For  the  white  water-lily  is  wondrous  fair, 

With  her  large  broad  leaves  on  the  stream  afloat, 

Each  one  a  capacious  fairy-boat. 

The  swan  among  flowers !     How  stately  ride 

Her  snow-white  leaves  on  the  glittering  tide ! 

And  the  dragon-fly  gallantly  stays  to  sip 

A  kiss  of  dew  from  her  goblet's  lip. 

Twamley. 


188  ®f)«  lafcj'js  ©ml*. 


38.  Hawthorn,  famed  mid  vernal  scene 
For  gracing  May's  propitious  hour 
With  prodigality  of  flower, 
Pink-anthered  mid  its  petals  pale, 
And  lending  fragrance  to  the  gale  ; 
Hailed  from  its  fair  and  sweet  array 
The  namesake  of  the  lovely  May. 

Twamley. 

39.  And  thou,  so  rich  in  gentle  names,  appealing 

To  hearts  that  own  our  nature's  common  lot; 
Those,  styled  by  sportive  fancy's  better  feeling, 
A  Thought,  The  Heart's  Ease,  or  Forget  me  not. 

Barton. 

40.  The  erica  here, 
That  o'er  the  Caledonian  hills  sublime 
Spreads  its  dark  mantle,  (where  the  bees  delight 
To  seek  their  purest  honey,)  flourishes; 
Sometimes  with  bells  like  amethysts,  and  then, 
Paler,  and  shaded  like  the  maiden's  cheek 
With  gradual  blushes  —  other  while,  as  white 
As  rime  that  hangs  upon  the  frozen  spray. 

Of  this,  old  Scotia's  hardy  mountaineers 
Their  rustic  couches  form  ;  and  there  enjoy 
Sleep,  which,  beneath  his  velvet  canopy, 
Luxurious  idleness  implores  in  vain. 

Twamley. 

41.  Ah!  'tis  a  goodly  little  thing, 

It  groweth  for  the  poor, 
And  many  a  peasant  blesses  it, 
Beside  his  cottage  door. 


'jB  ©rzuU.  189 


He  thinketh  how  those  slender  stems 

That  shimmer  in  the  sun, 
Are  rich  for  him  in  web  and  woof, 

And  shortly  shall  be  spun. 
He  thinketh  how  those  tender  flowers 

Of  seed  will  yield  him  store ; 
And  sees  in  thought  his  next  year's  crop, 

Blue,  shining  round  his  door. 
Oh!  the  goodly  flax-flower! 

It  groweth  on  the  hill ; 
And  be  the  breeze  awake  or  sleep, 

It  never  standeth  still ! 
It  seemeth  all  astir  with  life, 

As  if  it  loved  to  thrive, 
As  if  it  had  a  merry  heart 

Within  its  stem  alive! 
Then  fair  befall  the  flax-field; 

And  may  the  kindly  showers 
Give  strength  unto  its  shining  stems, 

Give  seed  unto  its  flowers. 

Mary  Howitt. 

42.  Why  this  flower  is  now  called  so, 

List,  sweet  maids,  and  you  shall  know. 

Understand,  this  firstling  was 

Once  a  brisk  and  bonny  lasse, 

(Kept  as  close  as  Danae  was;) 

Who  a  sprightly  springall  loved, 

And,  to  have  it  fully  proved, 

Up  she  got  upon  a  wall, 

Tempting  down  to  slide  withall; 

But  the  silken  twist  untied, 

So  she  fell,  and,  bruised,  she  died. 


190  ®fc  3,ai2'*  ©rwl*. 


Love,  in  pity  of  the  deed, 
And  her  loving  lucklesse  speed, 
Changed  her  to  this  plant,  we  call 
Now,  the  Flower  of  the  Wall. 

Herrick. 

43.  Sweet  violets,  Love's  paradise,  that  spread 
Your  gracious  odours,  which  you  couched  bear 

Within  your  paly  faces, 
Upon  the  gentle  wing  of  some  calm-breathing  wind 

That  plays  amidst  the  plain  ; 
If,  by  the  favour  of  propitious  stars,  you  gain 
Such  grace  as  in  my  lady's  bosom  place  to  find, 
Be  proud  to  touch  those  places. 

Scott. 

44.  I'll  go  and  peep  at  the  pimpernel, 

And  see  if  she  think  the  clouds  look  well; 

For  if  the  sun  shine, 

And  'tis  like  to  be  fine, 

I  shall  go  to  the  fair, 

For  my  sweetheart  is  there: 
So,  pimpernel,  what  bode  the  clouds  and  the  sky? 
If  fair  weather,  no  maiden  so  merry  as  I. 
Now  the  pimpernel-flower  had  folded  up 
Her  little  gold  star  in  her  coral  cup, 

And  unto  the  maid 

Thus  her  warning  said: 

Though  the  sun  smile  down, 

There's  a  gathering  frown 
O'er  the  checkered  blue  of  the  clouded  sky; 
So  tarry  at  home,  for  a  storm  is  nigh. 

Twamley. 


Qlljt  labj's  ©rarU.  191 

45.  The  tuberose,  with  her  silver  light, 

That  in  the  garden  of  Malay 
Is  called  the  mistress  of  the  night; 
So  like  a  bride,  scented  and  bright, 

She  comes  out  when  the  sun's  away. 

Moore. 

46.  It  was  the  tall,  sweet-scented  flag, 

Lay  pictured  there  so  true, 
I  could  have  deemed  some  fairy  hand 

The  faithful  image  drew. 
The  falchion-leaves,  all  long  and  sharp; 

The  stem,  like  a  tall  leaf  too, 
Except  where,  halfway  up  its  side, 

A  cone-shaped  flowerspike  grew. 
Like  a  lady's  finger,  taper,  long, 

From  end  to  end  arrayed 
In  close  scale-armour,  that  was  all 

Of  starry  flowers  made. 
If  you  could  fancy  fairy  folk 

Would  mimic  work  of  ours, 
You'd  think  their  dainty  fingers  here 

Had  wrought  mosaic  flowers. 
The  tiny  petals  neatly  formed, 

With  geometric  skill, 
Are  each  one  so  exactly  shaped, 

Its  proper  place  to  fill. 
And  stamens,  like  fine  golden  dust, 

Spangle  the  flowerets  green ; 
Aught  more  compact  or  beautiful 

Mine  eyes  have  never  seen! 

Twamley. 


192 


47.  No  flower  amid  the  garden  fairer  grows 
Than  the  sweet  lily  of  the  lowly  vale, 
The  queen  of  flowers. 

Keats. 

48.  EMILIA.— Of  all  flowers, 
Methinks  a  rose  is  best. 

SERVANT. — Why,  gentle  madam? 

EMILIA. — It  is  the  very  emblem  of  a  maid: 
For  when  the  west  wind  courts  her  gently, 
How  modestly  she  blows,  and  paints  the  sun 
With  her  chaste  blushes!     When  the  north  comes 

near  her, 

Rude  and  impatient,  then,  like  chastity, 
She  locks  her  beauties  in  her  bud  again, 
And  leaves  him  to  base  friars. 

Beaumont. 

49.  The  blue-eyed  forget-me-not,  beautiful  flower, 
Half-wooed  and  half-stolen,  I  brought  from  her 

bower, 
By  the  bright  river's  brink,  where  she  nestled  so 

low, 

That  the  water  o'er  stem  and  o'er  leaflet  might  flow; 
As  if,  like  Narcissus,  she  foolishly  tried 
To  gaze  on  her  own  gentle  face  in  the  tide. 
Half  inclined,  half  reluctant,  the  flower  bade  adieu 
To  the  friends  left  behind  in  the  dell  where  she  grew ; 
And  a  few  shining  drops,  from  the  river-spray  flung, 
Like  tears  of  regret  on  her  azure  eyes  hung ; 
But  I  kissed  them  away,  as  a  lover  had  done, 
In  joy  that  my  fair  river-beauty  I'd  won. 

Twamley. 


©ml*.  193 


50.  Around  the  door  the  honeysuckle  climbed, 

And  multiflora  spread  her  countless  roses, 
And  never  minstrel  sang  nor  poet  rhymed 

Romantic  scene  where  happiness  reposes, 
Sweeter  to  sense  than  that  enchanting  dell 
Where  home-sick  memory  fondly  loves  to  dwell. 

Anon. 


Bfytrjr  is  par  fararfo  inrawtir  derate? 


NGELO, 

There  is  a  kind  of  character  in  thy  life, 
That,  to  the  observer,  doth  thy  history 
Fully  unfold:  Thyself  and  thy  belongings 
Are  not  thine  own  so  proper,  as  to  waste 
Thyself  upon  thy  virtues,  them  on  thee. 
Heaven  doth  with  us,  as  we  with  torches  do; 
Not  light  them  for   themselves:   for  if  our 

virtues 

Did  not  go  forth  with  us,  'twere  all  alike 
As  if  we  had  them' not.     Spirits  are  not  finely 

touched, 

But  to  fine  issues:  nor  nature  never  lends 
The  smallest  scruple  of  her  excellence, 
But,  like  a  thrifty  goddess,  she  determines 
Herself  the  glory  of  a  creditor, 
Both  thanks  and  use. 

Shakspeare. 


SUij'a  ©ra*U.  195 


2.  Shylock,  the  world  thinks,  and  I  think  so  too, 
That  thou  but  leadest  this  fashion  of  thy  malice 
To  the  last  hour  of  act ;  and  then,  'tis  thought, 
Thou'lt  show  thy  mercy,  and  remorse  more  strange 
Than  is  thy  strange  apparent  cruelty : 

And,  where  thou  now  exact'st  the  penalty, 

(Which  is  a  pound  of  this  poor  merchant's  flesh,) 

Thou  wilt  not  only  lose  the  forfeiture, 

But,  touched  with  human  gentleness  and  love, 

Forgive  a  moiety  of  the  principal ; 

Glancing  an  eye  of  pity  on  his  losses, 

That  have  of  late  so  huddled  on  his  back ; 

Enough  to  press  a  royal  merchant  down, 

And  pluck  commiseration  of  his  state 

From  brassy  bosoms  and  rough  hearts  of  flint, 

From  stubborn  Turks  and  Tartars  never  trained 

To  offices  of  tender  courtesy. 

We  all  expect  a  gentle  answer,  Jew. 

Shakspeare. 

3.  Rosalind  lacks  then  the  love 

Which  teacheth  thee  that  thou  and  I  am  one : 
Shall  we  be  sundered?  shall  we  part,  sweet  girl? 
No ;  let  my  father  seek  another  heir. 
Therefore  devise  with  me,  how  we  may  fly, 
Whither  to  go,  and  what  to  bear  with  us : 
And  do  not  seek  to  take  your  change  upon  you, 
To  bear  your  griefs  yourself,  and  leave  me  out; 
For,  by  this  heaven,  now  at  our  sorrow's  pale, 
Say  what  thou  canst,  I'll  go  along  with  thee. 

Shakspeare 


196  qjjji  laic's  ©mlt. 

4.  Why,  Petruchio  is  coming,  in  a  new  hat,  and  an  old 
jerkin;  a  pair  of  old  breeches,  thrice  turned;  a  pair  of 
boots  that  had  been  candle-cases,  one  buckled,  another 
laced ;  an  old  rusty  sword  ta'en  out  of  the  town  armory, 
with  a  broken  hilt,  and  chapeless,  with  two  broken 
points :  His  horse  hiped  with  an  old  mothy  saddle,  the 
stirrups  of  no  kindred:  besides,  possessed  with  the 
glanders,  and  like  to  mose  in  the  chine ;  troubled  with 
the  lampass,  infected  with  the  fashions,  full  of  wind- 
galls,  sped  with  spavins,  raied  with  the  yellows,  past 
cure  of  the  fives,  stark  spoiled  with  the  staggers,  be- 
gnawn  with  the  bots ;  swayed  in  the  back,  and  shoulder- 
shotten;  near  legged  before,  and  with  a  half-checked 
bit,  and  a  headstall  of  sheep's  leather ;  which  being 
restrained  to  keep  him  from  stumbling,  hath  been  often 
burst,  and  now  repaired  with  knots ;  one  girt  six  times 
pierced,  and  a  woman's  crupper  of  velure,  which  hath 
two  letters  for  her  name,  fairly  set  down  in  studs,  and 
here  and  there  pieced  with  packthread. 

Shakspeare. 

5.  In  faith;  for  you  are  called  plain  Kate, 

And  bonny  Kate,  and  sometimes  Kate  the  curst; 
But  Kate,  the  prettiest  Kate  in  Christendom, 
Kate  of  Kate-hall,  my  super-dainty  Kate, 
For  dainties  are  all  cates:  and  therefore,  Kate, 
Take  this  of  me,  Kate  of  my  consolation ; — 
Hearing  thy  mildness  praised  in  every  town, 
Thy  virtues  spoke  of  and  thy  beauties  sounded, 
(Yet  not  so  deeply  as  to  thee  belongs,) 
Myself  am  moved  to  woo  thee  for  my  wife. 

Shakspeare. 


3U&S'*  ©ml*.  197 


6.  0  sweet  Portia, 

Here  are  a  few  of  the  unpleasantest  words 
That  ever  blotted  paper!     Gentle  lady, 
When  I  did  first  impart  my  love  to  you, 
I  freely  told  you,  all  the  wealth  I  had 
Kan  in  my  veins,  I  was  a  gentleman ; 
And  then  I  told  you  true:  and  yet,  dear  lady, 
Rating  myself  at  nothing,  you  shall  see 
How  much  I  was  a  braggart:  When  I  told  you 
My  state  was  nothing,  I  should  then  have  told  you 
That  I  was  worse  than  nothing ;  for,  indeed, 
I  have  engaged  myself  to  a  dear  friend, 
Engaged  my  friend  to  his  meer  enemy, 

To  feed  by  means. 

Sliakspeare. 

7.  0,  you  are  sick  of  self-love,  Malvolio,  and  taste  with 
a  distempered  appetite :  to  be  generous,  guiltless,  and 
of  free  disposition,  is  to  take  those  things  for  bird-bolts, 
that  you  deem  cannon-bullets.  There  is  no  slander  in 
an  allowed  fool,  though  he  do  nothing  but  rail ;  nor  no 
railing  in  a  known  discreet  man,  though  he  do  nothing 

but  reprove. 

Shakspeare. 

8.  Her  natural  posture? — 

Chide  me,  dear  stone ;  that  I  may  say,  indeed, 
Thou  art  Hermione :  or,  rather,  thou  art  she, 
In  thy  not  chiding ;  for  she  was  as  tender 
As  infancy  and  grace.    But  yet,  Paulina, 
Hermione  was  not  so  much  wrinkled ;  nothing 

So  aged  as  this  seems. 

Shakspeare. 
17* 


198  fiffijt  Itfstfs  ©ratlt. 

9.  Yes,  Helen,  you  might  be  my  daughter-in-law; 
God    shield    you    mean    it    not!    daughter,    and 

mother, 

So  strive  upon  your  pulse:  What,  pale  again? 
My  fear  hath  catched  your  fondness :  Now  I  see 
The  mystery  of  your  loneliness,  and  find 
Your  salt  tears  head.     Now  to  all  sense  'tis  gross, 
You  love  my  son ;  invention  is  ashamed, 
Against  the  proclamation  of  thy  passion, 
To  say,  thou  dost  not:  therefore  tell  me  true; 
But  tell  me  then,  'tis  so: — for,  look,  thy  cheeks 
Confess  it  one  to  the  other;  and  thine  eyes 
See  it  so  grossly  shown  in  thy  behaviours, 
That  in  their  kind  they  speak  it;  only  sin 
And  hellish  obstinacy  tie  thy  tongue, 
That  truth  should  be  suspected :  Speak  is't  so  ? 
If  it  be  so,  you  have  wound  a  goodly  clue ; 
If  it  be  not,  forswear't :  howe'er  I  charge  thee, 
As  heaven  shall  work  in  me  for  thine  avail, 
To  tell  me  truly. 

Shakspeare. 

10.  Fare  thee  well ;  and  God  have  mercy  upon  one  of 
our  souls !  He  may  have  mercy  upon  mine ;  but  my 
hope  is  better,  and  so  look  to  thyself.  Thy  friend,  as 
thou  usest  him,  and  thy  sworn  enemy,  Andrew  Ague- 
cheek. 

Shakspeare. 

11.  Hark,  Perdita, 

I'll  hear  you  by  and  by. 

Shakspeare. 


'js  ©ratlt.  199 


12.  Orsino,  noble  sir, 

Be  pleased  that  I  shake  off  these  names  you  gave  me  ; 
Antonio  never  yet  was  thief,  or  pirate, 
Though  I  confess,  on  base  and  ground  enough, 
Orsino's  enemy.     A  witchcraft  drew  me  hither: 
That  most  ungrateful  boy  there,  by  your  side, 
From  the  rude  sea's  enraged  and  foamy  mouth 
Did  I  redeem;  a  wreck  past  hope  he  was: 
His  life  I  gave  him,  and  did  thereto  add 
My  love,  without  retention,  or  restraint, 
All  his  in  dedication:  for  his  sake 
Did  I  expose  myself,  pure  for  his  love, 
Into  the  danger  of  this  adverse  town; 
Drew  to  defend  him,  when  he  was  beset: 
Where  being  apprehended,  his  false  cunning 
(Not  meaning  to  partake  with  me  in  danger) 
Taught  him  to  face  me  out  of  his  acquaintance, 
And  grew  a  twenty-years  removed  thing, 
While  one  would  wink;  denied  me  mine  own  purse, 
Which  I  had  recommended  to  his  use 
Not  half  an  hour  before. 

Shakspeare. 

13.  Dost  thou  hear,  Camilla? 

I  conjure  thee,  by  all  the  parts  of  man, 

Which  honour  does  acknowledge,  —  whereof  the  least 

Is  not  this  suit  of  mine,  —  that  thou  declare 

What  incidency  thou  dost  guess  of  harm 

Is  creeping  toward  me;  how  far  off,  how  near; 

Which  way  to  be  prevented,  if  to  be; 

If  not,  how  best  to  bear  it. 

Shakspeare. 


200  ®1j*  lairs'*  ©rzule. 

14.  The  king  hath  happily  received,  Macbeth, 
The  news  of  thy  success ;  and  when  he  reads 
Thy  personal  venture  in  the  rebel's  fight, 
His  wonders  and  his  praises  do  contend, 

Which  should  be  thine,  or  his :  Silenced  with  that, 
In  viewing  o'er  the  rest  o'  the  selfsame  day, 
He  finds  thee  in  the  stout  Norweyan  ranks, 
Nothing  afraid  of  what  thyself  didst  make, 
Strange  images  of  death.     As  thick  as  tale, 
Came  post  with  post;  and  every  one  did  bear 
Thy  praises  in  his  kingdom's  great  defence, 
And  poured  them  down  before  him. 

Shakspeare. 

15.  Come  hither,  Hubert.    0  my  gentle  Hubert, 
"We  owe  thee  much;  within  this  wall  of  flesh 
There  is  a  soul  counts  thee  her  creditor, 
And  with  advantage  means  to  pay  thy  love: 
And,  my  good  friend,  thy  voluntary  oath 
Lives  in  this  bosom,  dearly  cherished. 

Give  me  thy  hand.     I  had  a  thing  to  say, — 
But  I  will  fit  it  with  some  better  time. 
By  heaven,  Hubert,  I  am  almost  ashamed 
To  say  what  good  respect  I  have  of  thee. 

Sliakspeare. 

16.  Old  Jolm  of  Gaunt,  time-honoured  Lancaster, 
Hast  thou,  according  to  thy  oath  and  band, 
Brought  hither  Henry  Hereford,  thy  bold  son; 
Here  to  make  good  the  boisterous  late  appeal, 
Which  then  our  leisure  would  not  let  us  hear, 
Against  the  duke  of  Norfolk,  Thomas  Mowbray  ? 

Shakspeare. 


W&t  3U&s's  ©ml*.  .         201 

17.  See,  see,  King  Richard  doth  himself  appear, 
As  doth  the  blushing  discontented  sun 
From  out  the  fiery  portal  of  the  east ; 

When  he  perceives,  the  envious  clouds  are  bent 
To  dim  his  glory,  and  to  stain  the  tract 
Of  his  bright  passage  to  the  Occident. 
Yet  looks  he  like  a  king ;  behold,  his  eye, 
As  bright  as  is  the  eagle's,  lightens  forth 
Controlling  majesty:  Alack,  alack,  for  wo, 
That  any  harm  should  stain  so  fair  a  show ! 

Shakspeare. 

18.  The  archdeacon  hath  divided  it 
Into  three  limits,  very  equally : 
England,  from  Trent  and  Severn  hitherto, 
By  south  and  east,  is  to  my  part  assigned: 
All  westward,  Wales  beyond  the  Severn  shore, 
And  all  the  fertile  land  within  that  bound, 

To  Owen  Glendower : — and,  dear  coz,  to  you 
The  remnant  northward,  lying  off  from  Trent. 
And  our  indentures  tripartite  are  drawn : 
Which  being  sealed  interchangeably, 
(A  business  that  this  night  may  execute,) 
To-morrow,  cousin  Percy,  you,  and  I, 
And  my  good  lord  of  Worcester,  will  set  forth, 
To  meet  your  father,  and  the  Scottish  power, 
As  is  appointed  us,  at  Shrewsbury. 
My  father  Glendower  is  not  ready  yet, 
Nor  shall  we  need  his  help  these  fourteen  days: — 
Within  that  space  you  may  have  drawn  together 
Your  tenants,  friends,  and  neighbouring  gentlemen. 

Shakspeare. 


202 


19.  My  name  is  Constance;  I  was  Geffrey's  wife; 
Young  Arthur  is  my  son,  and  he  is  lost: 

I  am  not  mad;  —  I  would  to  heaven  I  were! 
For  then,  'tis  like  I  should  forget  myself: 
Oh,  if  I  could,  what  grief  should  I  forget!  — 
Preach  some  philosophy  to  make  me  mad, 
And  thou  shalt  be  canonized,  cardinal  ; 
For,  being  not  mad,  but  sensible  of  grief, 
My  reasonable  part  produces  reason 
How  I  may  be  delivered  of  these  woes, 
And  teaches  me  to  kill  or  hang  myself: 
If  I  were  mad,  I  should  forget  my  son  ; 
Or  madly  think,  a  babe  of  clouts  were  he  ; 
I  am  not  mad;  too  well,  too  well  I  feel 
The  different  plague  of  each  calamity. 

Shakspeare. 

20.  Why,  then  I  see 
A  very  valiant  rebel  of  that  name. 

I  am  the  Prince  of  Wales;  and  think  not,  Percy, 
To  share  with  me  in  glory  any  more: 
Two  stars  keep  not  their  motion  in  one  sphere  ; 
Nor  can  one  England  brook  a  double  reign, 
Of  Harry  Percy,  and  the  Prince  of  "Wales. 

Shakspeare* 

21.  That  Julius  Ccesar  was  a  famous  man  ; 
With  what  his  valour  did  enrich  his  wit, 
His  wit  set  down  to  make  his  valour  live: 
Death  makes  no  conquest  of  this  conqueror; 
For  now  he  lives  in  fame,  though  not  in  life. 

Shakspeare. 


'js  ©mlt.  203 


22.  Then,  as  I  said,  the  duke,  great  Bolingbroke, 
Mounted  upon  a  hot  and  fiery  steed, 
Which  his  aspiring  rider  seem'd  to  know,  — 
With  slow,  but  stately  pace  kept  on  his  course, 
While  all  tongues  cried  —  God  save  thee,  Boling- 

brokel 

You  would  have  thought  the  very  windows  spake, 
So  many  greedy  looks  of  young  and  old 
Through  casements  darted  their  desiring  eyes 
Upon  his  visage  ;  and  that  all  the  walls, 
With  painted  imagery,  had  said  at  once,  — 
Jesu  preserve  thee  !  welcome,  Bolingbroke  ! 
Whilst  he,  from  one  side  to  the  other  turning, 
Bare-headed,  lower  than  his  proud  steed's  neck, 
Bespake  them  thus,  —  I  thank  you,  countrymen: 
And  thus  still  doing,  thus  he  passed  along. 

SJiakspeare. 

23.  Too  modest  are  you  ; 

More  cruel  to  your  good  report,  than  grateful 
To  us  that  give  you  truly  :  by  your  patience, 
If  'gainst  yourself  you  be  incensed,  we'll  put  you 
(Like  one  that  means  his  proper  harm)  in  manacles, 
Then  reason  safely  with  you.    Therefore  be  it  known, 
As  to  us,  to  all  the  world,  that  Caius  Marcius 
Wears  this  war's  garland:  in  token  of  the  which, 
My  noble  steed,  known  to  the  camp,  I  give  him, 
With  all  his  trim  belonging  ;  and,  from  this  time, 
For  what  he  did  before  Corioli,  call  him, 
With  all  the  applause  and  clamour  of  the  host, 
Caius  Marcius  Coriolanus.  - 
Bear  the  addition  nobly  ever! 

Shakspeare. 


'js  ©ratU. 


24.  A  goodly  portly  man,  i'faith,  and  a  corpulent  ; 
of  a  cheerful  look,  a  pleasing  eye,  and  a  most  noble 
carriage  :  and,  as  I  think,  his  age  some  fifty,  or,  by'r- 
Lady,  inclining  to  threescore  ;  and  now  I  remember 
me,  his  name  is  Falstaff:  if  that  man  should  be  lewdly 
given,  he  deceiveth  me  ;  for,  Harry,  I  see  virtue  in  his 
looks.  If  then  the  fruit  may  be  known  by  the  tree,  as 
the  tree  by  the  fruit,  then,  peremptorily  I  speak  it, 
there  is  virtue  in  that  Falstaff:  him  keep  with,  the  rest 
banish.  And  tell  me  now,  thou  naughty  varlet,  tell 
me,  where  hast  thou  been  this  month  ? 

Shakspeare. 

25.  Brutus,  I  do  observe  you  now  of  late; 

I  have  not  from  your  eyes  that  gentleness, 
And  show  of  love,  as  I  was  wont  to  have  : 
You  bear  too  stubborn  and  too  strange  a  hand 
Over  your  friend  that  loves  you. 

Shakspeare. 

26.  Thus  stands  my  state,  'twixt  Cade  and  York  dis- 

tressed ; 

Like  to  a  ship,  that,  having  'scaped  a  tempest, 
Is  straightway  calmed,  and  boarded  with  a  pirate: 
But  now  is  Cade  driven  back,  his  men  dispersed  ; 
And  now  is  York  in  arms,  to  second  him.  - 
I  pray  thee,  Buckingham,  go  and  meet  him  ; 
And  ask  him,  what's  the  reason  of  these  arms. 
Tell  him,  I'll  send  duke  Edmund  to  the  Tower  :  — 
And,  Somerset,  we  will  commit  thee  thither, 
Until  his  army  be  dismissed  from  him. 

Shakspeare. 


®lj.e  ia&s's  ©mle.  205 

27.  Leave  me  awhile. — 
It  shall  be  to  the  duchess  of  Alengon, 

The  French  king's  sister:  he  shall  marry  her. — 
Anne  Sullen!  No;  I'll  no  Anne  Bullens  for  him: 
There's  more  in't  than  fair  visage. — Bullen ! 
No,  we'll  no  Bullens! — Speedily  I  wish 
To  hear  from  Rome. — The  marchioness  of  Pem- 
broke! 

Shakspeare. 

28.  Well,  well,  he  was  the  covertest  sheltered  traitor 

That  ever  lived. Look  you,  my  lord  mayor, 

Would  you  imagine,  or  almost  believe, 
(Were't  not,  that  by  great  preservation 

We  live  to  tell  it  you)  the  subtle  traitor 
This  day  had  plotted,  in  the  council-house, 
To  murder  me,  and  my  good  lord  of  Gloster  f 

Shakspeare. 

29.  Cassius, 

Be  not  deceived:  If  I  have  veiled  my  look, 

I  turn  the  trouble  of  my  countenance 

Merely  upon  myself.     Vexed  I  am 

Of  late  with  passions  of  some  difference, 

Conceptions  only  proper  to  myself, 

Which  give  some  soil,  perhaps,  to  my  behaviours: 

But  let  not  therefore  my  good  friends  be  grieved, 

(Among  which  number,  Cassius,  be  you  one,) 

Nor  construe  any  further  my  neglect, 

Than  that  poor  Brutus,  with  himself  at  war, 

Forgets  the  shows  of  love  to  other  men. 

SlMkspeare. 

18 


206  ftfjf  lairs'*  ©ml*. 

30.  Speak  to  me  home,  mince  not  the  general  tongue ; 
Name  Cleopatra  as  she's  called  in  Rome: 

Rail  thou  in  Fulvia's  phrase ;  and  taunt  my  faults 
With  such  full  license,  as  both  truth  and  malice 
Have  power  to  utter.     0,  then  we  bring  forth  weeds, 
When  our  quick  winds  lie  still ;  and  our  ill,  told  us, 
Is  as  our  earing.     Fare  thee  well  awhile. 

Shakspeare. 

31.  Scribe.  Say,  Katharine,  Queen  of  England,  come 

into  the  court. 

Crier.  Katharine,  queen  of  England,  &c. 
\The,  Queen  makes  no  answer,  rises  out  of  her  chair, 
goes  about  the  court,  comes  to  the  king,  and  kneels  at  his 
feet ;  then  speaks.] 

Queen.  Sir,  I  desire  you,  do  me  right  and  justice; 
And  to  bestow  your  pity  on  me :  for 
I  am  a  most  poor  woman,  and  a  stranger, 
Born  out  of  your  dominions:  having  here 
No  judge  indifferent,  nor  no  more  assurance 
Of  equal  friendship  and  proceeding.     Alas,  sir, 
In  what  have  I  offended  you  ?  what  cause 
Hath  my  behaviour  given  to  your  displeasure, 
That  thus  you  should  proceed  to  put  me  off, 
And  take  your  good  gface  from  me?    Heaven 

witness, 

I  have  been  to  you  a  true  and  humble  wife, 
At  all  times  to  your  will  conformable : 
Ever  in  fear  to  kindle  your  dislike, 
Yea,  subject  to  your  countenance;  glad,  or  sorry, 
As  I  saw  it  inclined.     When  was  the  hour 
I  ever  contradicted  your  desire, 


207 


Or  made  it  not  mine   too?    Or  which  of  your 

friends 

Have  I  not  strove  to  love,  although  I  knew 
He  were  mine  enemy  ?  what  friend  of  mine, 
That  had  to  him  derived  your  anger,  did  I 
Continue  in  my  liking?  nay,  gave  not  notice 
He  was  from  thence  discharged  ?     Sir,  call  to  mind, 
That  I  have  been  your  wife,  in  this  obedience, 
Upwards  of  twenty  years,  and  have  been  blest 
With  many  children  by  you  :  If,  in  the  course 
And  process  of  this  time,  you  can  report, 
And  prove  it  too,  against  mine  honour  aught, 
My  bond  to  wedlock,  or  my  love  and  duty 
Against  your  sacred  person,  in  God's  name, 
Turn  me  away  ;  and  let  the  foulest  contempt 
Shut  door  upon  me,  and  so  give  me  up 
To  the  sharpest  kind  of  justice.     Please  you,  sir, 
The  king,  your  father,  was  reputed  for 
A  prince  most  prudent,  of  an  excellent 
And  unmatched  wit  and  judgment:  Ferdinand, 
My  father,  king  of  Spain,  was  reckoned  one 
The  wisest  prince,  that  there  had  reigned  by  many 
A  year  before:  It  is  not  to  be  questioned 
That  they  had  gathered  a  wise  council  to  them 
Of  every  realm,  that  did  debate  this  business, 
Who   deemed   our   marriage   lawful;  Wherefore 

humbly 

Beseech  you,  sir,  to  spare  me,  till  I  may 
Be  by  my  friends  in  Spain  advised;  whose  counsel 
I  will  implore:  If  not;  i'  the  name  of  God, 
Your  pleasure  be  fulfilled! 

Shakspeare. 


208 


32.       Wolsey.  Cromwell,  I  did  not  think  to  shed  a  tear 
In  all  my  miseries ;  but  thou  hast  forced  me, 
Out  of  thy  honest  truth,  to  play  the  woman. 
Let's  dry  our  eyes :  And  thus  far  hear  me,  Cromwell ; 
And, — when  I  am  forgotten,  as  I  shall  be; 
And  sleep  in  dull  cold  marble,  where  no  mention 
Of  me  more  must  be  heard  of, — say,  I  taught  thee, 
Say,  Wolsey, — that  once  trod  the  ways  of  glory, 
And  sounded  all  the  depths  and  shoals  of  honour, — 
Found  thee  a  way  out  of  his  wreck  to  rise  in ; 
A  sure  and  safe  one,  though  thy  master  missed  it. 
Mark  but  my  fall,  and  that  that  ruined  me. 
Cromwell,  I  charge  thee,  fling  away  ambition; 
By  that  sin  fell  the  angels ;  how.  can  man,  then, 
The  image  of  his  Maker,  hope  to  win  by  't  ? 
Love  thyself  last :  cherish  those  hearts  that  hate  thee ; 
Corruption  wins  not  more  than  honesty. 
Still  in  thy  right  hand  carry  gentle  peace,   . 
To  silence  envious  tongues.     Be  just,  and  fear  not: 
Let  all  the  ends  thou  aimest  at  be  thy  country's, 
Thy  God's,  and  truth's;  then  if  thou  fallest,  0 

Cromwell, 

Thou  fallest  a  blessed  martyr.     Serve  the  king; 
And, — Pr'ythee,  lead  me  in: 
There  take  an  inventory  of  all  I  have, 
To  the  last  penny;  'tis  the  king's:  my  robe, 
And  my  integrity  to  heaven,  is  all 
I  dare  now  call  mine  own.    0  Cromwell,  Cromwell, 
Had  I  but  served  my  God  with  half  the  zeal 
I  served  my  king,  He  would  not  in  mine  age 
Have  left  me  naked  to  mine  enemies. 

Shakspeare. 


QJijt  labj's  ©raxle.  209 


33.       Brutus.  Another  general  shout! 
I  do  believe,  that  these  applauses  are 
For  some  new  honours  that  are  heaped  on  Ccesar. 
Cos.  Why,  man,  he  doth  bestride  the  narrow- 
world 

Like  a  Colossus ;  and  we  petty  men 
Walk  under  his  huge  legs  and  peep  about 
To  find  ourselves  dishonourable  graves. 
Men  at  some  time  are  masters  of  their  fates : 
The  fault,  dear  Brutus,  is  not  in  our  stars, 
But  in  ourselves,  that  we  are  underlings. 
Brutus,  and  Caesar:  What  should  be  in  that  Caesar? 
Why  should  that  name  be  sounded  more  than  yours? 
Write  them  together,  yours  is  as  fair  a  name ; 
Sound  them,  it  doth  become  the  mouth  as  well: 
Weigh  them,  it  is  as  heavy;  conjure  with  them, 
Brutus  will  start  a  spirit  as  soon  as  Caesar. 
Now,  in  the  names  of  all  the  gods  at  once, 
Upon  what  meat  doth  this  our  Caesar  feed, 
That  he  is  grown  so  great?     Age,  thou  art  shamed; 
Rome,  thou  hast  lost  the  breed  of  noble  bloods ! 
When  went  there  by  an  age,  since  the  great  flood, 
But  it  was  famed  with  more  than  with  one  man? 
When  could  they  say,  till  now,  that  talked  of  Rome, 
That  her  wide  walls  encompassed  but  one  man? 
Now  is  it  Rome  indeed,  and  room  enough, 
When  there  is  in  it  but  one  only  man. 
O !  you  and  I  have  heard  our  fathers  say, 
There  was  a  Brutus  once  that  would  have  brooked 
The  eternal  devil  to  keep  his  state  in  Rome, 
As  easily  as  a  king. 

Shakspeare. 

18* 


210  &Ij£  3U&J'*  ©ml*. 


34.  War.  The  bloody  parliament  shall  this  be  called, 
Unless  Plantagenet,  duke  of  York,  be  king ; 

And  bashful  Henry  deposed,  whose  cowardice 
Hath  made  us  by-words  to  our  enemies. 

York.  Then  leave  me  not,  my  lords ;  be  resolute ; 
I  mean  to  take  possession  of  my  right. 

War.  Neither  the  king,  nor  he  that  loves  him  best, 
The  proudest  he  that  holds  up  Lancaster, 
Dares  stir  a  wing,  if  Warwick  shake  his  bells. 
I'll  plant  Plantagenet,  root  him  up  who  dares : — 
Resolve  thee,  Richard;  claim  the  English  crown. 

Shakspeare. 

35.  Most  noble  Antony, 
Let  not  the  piece  of  virtue,  which  is  set 
Betwixt  us,  as  the  cement  of  our  love, 
To  keep  it  builded,  be  the  ram,  to  batter 
The  fortress  of  it:  for  better  might  we 

Have  loved  without  this  mean,  if  on  both  parts 
This  be  not  cherished. 

Shakspeare. 

36.  Up  to  the  eastern  tower, 

Whose  height  commands  as  subject  all  the  vale, 
To  see  the  battle.     Hector,  whose  patience 
Is,  as  a  virtue,  fixed,  to-day  was  moved ; 
He  chid  Andromache,  and  struck  his  armourer; 
And,  like  as  there  were  husbandry  in  war, 
Before  the  sun  rose,  he  was  harnessed  light, 
And  to  the  field  goes  he ;  where  every  flower 
Did,  as  a  prophet,  weep  what  it  foresaw 
In  Hector's  wrath. 

Shakspeare. 


's  ©rattle.  211 


37.  Hail  to  thee,  worthy  Timon;  —  and  to  all, 

That  of  his  bounties  taste  !  —  The  five  best  senses 
Acknowledge  thee  their  patron  ;  and  come  freely 
To  gratulate  thy  plenteous  bosom  ; 
The  ear,  taste,  touch,  smell,  pleased  from  thy  table 

rise; 

They  only  now  come  but  to  feast  thine  eyes. 

Shakspeare. 

38.  Thrift,  thrift,  Horatio!    The  funeral  baked  meats 
Did  coldly  furnish  forth  the  marriage  tables. 
'Would  I  had  met  my  dearest  foe  in  heaven, 

Or  ever  I  had  seen  that  day,  Horatio  !  - 
My  father,  —  Methinks,  I  see  my  father. 

Shakspeare. 

39.  For  the  Roman  eagle, 
From  south  to  west  on  wing  soaring  aloft, 
Lessened  herself,  and  in  the  beams  o'  the  sun 

So  vanished  :  which  foreshowed,  our  princely  eagle, 
The  imperial  Caesar,  should  again  unite 
His  favour  with  the  radiant  Cymbdine, 
Which  shines  here  in  the  west. 

Shakspeare. 

40.  A  sovereign  shame  so  elbows  him:  his  own  un- 

kindness, 

That  stripped  her  from  his  benediction,  turned  her 
To  foreign  casualties,  gave  her  dear  rights 
To  his  dog-hearted  daughters,  —  these  things  sting 
His  mind  so  venomously,  that  burning  shame 
Detains  him  from  Cordelia. 

Shakspeare. 


212  Qlt  3U&2'js  ©rack. 

41.  Rom.  He  jests  at  scars,  that  never  felt  a  wound. — 
But  soft!  what  light  through  yonder  window  breaks? 
It  is  the  east,  and  Juliet  is  the  sun ! — 

[Juliet  appears  above  at  a  window. 
Arise,  fair  sun,  and  kill  the  envious  moon, 
Who  is  already  sick  and  pale  with  grief, 
That  thou  her  maid  art  far  more  fair  than  she : 
Be  not  her  maid,  since  she  is  envious ; 
Her  vestal  livery  is  but  sick  and  green, 
And  none  but  fools  do  wear  it:  cast  it  off. — 
It  is  my  lady:  Oh,  it  is  my  love: 

Oh,  that  she  knew  she  were ! 

She  speaks,  yet  she  says  nothing:  What  of  that? 

Her  eye  discourses,  I  will  answer  it. 

I  am  too  bold,  'tis  not  to  me  it  speaks : 
Two  of  the  fairest  stars  in  all  the  heaven, 
Having  some  business,  do  entreat  her  eyes 
To  twinkle  in  their  spheres  till  they  return. 
What  if  her  eyes  were  there,  they  in  her  head? 
The  brightness  of  her  cheek  would  shame  those  stars, 
As  daylight  doth  a  lamp :  her  eye  in  heaven 
Would  through  the  airy  region  stream  so  bright, 
That  birds  would  sing,  and  think  it  were  not  night. 
See,  how  she  leans  her  cheek  upon  her  hand! 
Oh,  that  I  were  a  glove  upon  that  hand, 
That  I  might  touch  that  cheek ! 

Shakspeare. 

42.  Valiant  Othello,  we  must  straight  employ  you 
Against  the  general  enemy  Ottoman. — 

I  did  not  see  you ;  welcome,  gentle  signior ; 
We  lacked  your  counsel  and  your  help  to-night. 

Shakspeare. 


's  ©mlt.  213 


43.  Words,  vows,  gifts,  tears,  and  love's  full  sacrifice, 
He  offers  in  another's  enterprise: 

But  more  in  Troilus  thousand  fold  I  see 
Than  in  the  glass  of  Pandar's  praise  may  be. 

Shakspeare. 

44.  Juliet.     0  Romeo,  Romeo!  wherefore   art   thou 

Romeo? 

Deny  thy  father,  and  refuse  thy  name  ; 
Or,  if  thou  wilt  not,  be  but  sworn  my  love, 
And  I'll  no  longer  be  a  Capulet. 

Rom.  Shall  I  hear  more,  or  shall  I  speak  at  this? 

[Aside. 

Jul.  'Tis  but  thy  name  that  is  my  enemy; 
Thou  art  thyself,  though  not  a  Montague. 
What's  Montague?  it  is  nor  hand,  nor  foot, 
Nor  arm,  nor  face,  nor  any  other  part: 
What's  in  a  name?    That  which  we  call  a  rose, 
By  any  other  name  would  smell  as  sweet; 
So  Romeo  would,  were  he  not  Romeo  called, 
Retain  that  dear  perfection  which  he  owes, 
Without  that  title:  —  Romeo,  doff  thy  name; 
And  for  that  name,  which  is  no  part  of  thee, 
Take  all  myself. 

Shakspeare. 

45.  Good  Hamlet,  cast  thy  nighted  colour  off, 

And  let  thine  eye  look  like  a  friend  on  Denmark. 

Do  not,  for  ever,  with  thy  veiled  lids 

Seek  for  thy  noble  father  in  the  dust: 

Thou  knowest,  'tis  common:  all,  that  live,  must  die, 

Passing  through  nature  to  eternity. 

Shakspeare. 


214  ®&*  JU&s'js  ©tacit. 


46.  0  most  small  fault, 
How  ugly  didst  thou  in  Cordelia  show! 

Which,  like  an  engine,  wrenched  by  frame  of  nature 
From  the  fixt  place,  drew  from  my  heart  all  love, 
And  added  to  the  gall.     0  Lear,  Lear,  Lear! 
Beat  at  this  gate,  that  let  thy  folly  in, 
And  thy  dear  judgment  out!  —  Go,  go,  my  people. 

Shakspeare. 
.  .» 

47.  Fear  it,  Ophelia,  fear  it,  my  dear  sister; 
And  keep  you  in  the  rear  of  your  affection, 
Out  of  the  shot  and  danger  of  desire. 

The  chariest  maid  is  prodigal  enough, 
If  she  unmask  her  beauty  to  the  moon  : 
Virtue  itself  scapes  not  calumnious  strokes: 
The  canker  galls  the  infants  of  the  spring 
Too  oft  before  their  buttons  be  disclosed  ; 
And  in  the  morn  and  liquid  dew  of  youth 
Contagious  blastments  are  most  imminent. 
Be  wary,  then:  best  safety  lies  in  fear; 
Youth  to  itself  rebels,  though  none  else  near. 

Shakspeare. 

48.  These  things  to  hear, 
Would  Desdemona  seriously  incline  : 

But  still  the  house  affairs  would  draw  her  thence; 
Which  ever  as  she  could  with  haste  despatch, 
She'd  come  again,  and  with  a  greedy  ear 
Devour  up  my  discourse  :  Which  I  observing, 
Took  once  a  pliant  hour  ;  and  found  good  means 
To  draw  from  her  a  prayer  of  earnest  heart, 
That  I  would  all  my  pilgrimage  dilate, 


Sffj*  3U&J'*  ©twit.  215 

Whereof  by  parcels  she  had  something  heard, 

But  not  intentively:  I  did  consent; 

And  often  did  beguile  her  of  her  tears, 

When  I  did  speak  of  some  distressful  stroke 

That  my  youth  suffered.     My  story  being  done, 

She  gave  me  for  my  pains  a  world  of  sighs : 

She  swore, — In  faith,  'twas  strange,  'twas  passing 

strange ; 

'Twas  pitiful,  'twas  wondrous  pitiful : 
She  wished  she  had  not  heard  it;  yet  she  wished 
That  heaven  had  made  her  such  a  man:  she  thanked 

me; 

And  bade  me,  if  I  had  a  friend  that  loved  her, 
I  should  but  teach  him  how  to  tell  my  story, 
And  that  would  woo  her.     Upon  this  hint,  I  spake: 
She  loved  me  for  the  dangers  I  had  past ; 
And  I  loved  her  that  she  did  pity  them. 
This  only  is  the  witchcraft  I  have  used ; 
Here  comes  the  lady,  let  her  witness  it. 

Shakspeare. 

49.      Pol.  Yet  here,  Laertes !  aboard,  aboard,  for  shame ; 
The  wind  sits  in  the  shoulder  of  your  sail, 
And  you  are  stayed  for:  There, — my  blessings  with 
you;  [Laying  his  hands  on  Laertes'  Jiead. 

And  these  few  precepts  in  thy  memory: 
Look  thou  character.    Give  thy  thoughts  no  tongue, 
Nor  any  unproportioned  thought  his  act. 
Be  thou  familiar,  but  by  no  means  vulgar. 
The  friends  thou  hast,  and  their  adoption  tried, 
Grapple  them  to  thy  soul  with  hooks  of  steel ; 
But  do  not  dull  thy  palm  with  entertainment 


216  &)t  lafcj'js  ©radt. 

Of  each  new-hatched,  unfledged  comrade.    Beware 

Of  entrance  to  a  quarrel ;  but,  being  in, 

Bear  it  that  the  opposer  may  beware  of  thee. 

Give  every  man  thine  ear,  but  few  thy  voice: 

Take  each  man's  censure,  but  reserve  thy  judgment. 

Costly  thy  habit  as  thy  purse  can  buy, 

But  not  expressed  in  fancy ;  rich,  not  gaudy : 

For  the  apparel  oft  proclaims  the  man ; 

And  they  in  France,  of  the  best  rank  and  station, 

Are  most  select,  and  generous  chief  in  that. 

Neither  a  borrower  nor  a  lender  be : 

For  loan  oft  loses  both  itself  and  friend ; 

And  borrowing  dulls  the  edge  of  husbandry. 

This  above  all, — To  thine  ownself  be  true ; 

And  it  must  follow,  as  the  night  the  day, 

Thou  canst  not  then  be  false  to  any  man. 

Farewell :  my  blessing  season  this  in  thee ! 

Shakspeare. 

50.  'Tis  one  lago,  ancient  to  the  general. 

Shakspeare. 


f0jrfrjr  is  pur  tatdfe  Ii0tnriral 


*ITH  that  most  fatal  field,  I  will  not  here  begin 
spYsS  Where  Norman  William,  first  the  Conqueror, 

did  win 
The  day  at  Hastings,  where  the  valiant  Harold 

slain, 
Resigned  his  crown,  whose  soil  the  colour 

doth  retain 
Of  the  English  blood  there  shed,  as  the  earth 

still  kept  the  scar: 
Which  since  not  ours  begot,  but  an  invasive 

war, 

Among  our  home-fought  fields,  hath  no  de- 
scription here. 

Drayton. 

2.  The  battle  of  Blore-heath,  the  place  doth  next  supply, 
'Twixt  Richard  Nevtt,  that  great  earl  of  Salisbury, 
Who,  with  the  duke  of  York,  had  at  Saint  Alban's  late, 
That  glorious  battle  got  with  uncontrolled  fate. 

Drayton. 

19  2J7 


218 


3.  I  choose  the  battle  next  of  Shrewsbury  to  chant, 
Betwixt  Henry  the  Fourth,  the  son  of  John  of  Gaunt, 
And  the  stout  Percies,  Henry  Hotspur  and  his  eame 
The  earl  of  Wor'ster,  who  the  rightful  diadem 
Had  from  king  Richard  reft,  and  heaved  up  to  his  seat 
This  Henry  whom  (too  soon)  they  found  to  be  too 

great, 

Him  seeking  to  depose,  and  to  the  rule  prefer 
Richard's  proclaimed  heir,  their  cousin  Mortimer, 
Whom  Owen  Glendour  then  in  Wales  a  prisoner 

stayed, 
Whom  to  their  part  they  won,  and  thus  their  plot 

they  laid, 
That  Glendour  should  have  Wales,  as  long  as  Severn 

went, 

The  Percies  all  the  north,  that  lay  beyond  the  Trent; 
And  Mortimer  from  thence  the  south  to  be  his  share ; 
Which  Henry  having  heard,  doth  for  the  war  prepare, 
And  down  to  Cheshire  makes  (where  gathering 

powers  they  were) 

At  Shrewsbury  to  meet,  and  doth  affront  them  there: 
With  him  his  peerless  son,  the  princely  Henry,  came, 
With  the  earl  of  Stafford,  and  of  gentlemen  of  name, 
Blunt,  Shyrley,  Clifton,  men  that  very  powerful  were, 
With  Cockayne,  Calverly,  Massy,  and  Mortimer, 
Gausell,  and  Wendsley,  all  in  friends  and  tenants 

strong, 

Resorting  to  the  king  still  as  he  passed  along; 
Which  in  the  open  field  before  the  ranged  fights, 
He,  with  his  warlike  son,  there  dubbed  his  maiden 

knights. 

Drayton. 


©rade.  219 


4.  'Twas  after  dread  Pultowa's  day, 

When  fortune  left  the  Royal  Swede, 
Around  a  slaughtered  army  lay, 

No  more  to  combat  and  to  bleed. 
The  power  and  glory  of  the  war, 

Faithless  as  their  vain  votaries,  men, 
Had  passed  to  the  triumphant  Czar, 

And  Moscow's  walls  were  safe  again, 
Until  a  day  more  dark  and  drear, 
And  a  more  memorable  year, 
Should  give  to  slaughter  and  to  shame 
A  mightier  host  and  haughtier  name; 
A  greater  wreck,  a  deeper  fall, 
A  shock  to  one  —  a  thunderbolt  to  all. 

Byron. 

5.  What  were  we, 

If  Brutus  had  not  lived?    He  died  in  giving 
Rome  liberty,  but  left  a  deathless  lesson  — 
A  name  which  is  a  virtue,  and  a  soul 
Which  multiplies  itself  throughout  all  time, 
When  wicked  men  wax  mighty,  and  a  state 
Turns  servile:  he  and  his  high  friend  were  styled 
"The  last  of  Romans!" 

Byron. 

6.  I  will  not  see 
The  blood  of  Nimrod  and  Semiramis 

Sink  in  the  earth,  and  thirteen  hundred  years 
Of  empire  ending  like  a  shepherd's  tale  ; 

He  must  be  roused. 

Byron. 


220  &?)t  3la&2'*  ©twit. 


7.  And  all  are  fellows  in  their  need. 
Among  the  rest,  Mazeppa  made 
His  pillow  in  an  old  oak's  shade — 
Himself  as  rough,  and  scarce  less  old, 
The  Ukraine's  hetman,  calm  and  bold ; 
But  first,  outspent  with  this  long  course, 
The  Cossack  prince  rubbed  down  his  horse, 
And  made  for  him  a  leafy  bed, 

And  smoothed  his  fetlocks  and  his  mane, 
And  slacked  his  girth,  and  stripped  his  rein, 
And  joyed  to  see  how  well  he  fed. 

Byron. 

8.  Doge  Dandolo  survived  to  ninety  summers 
To  vanquish  empires  and  refuse  their  crown; 
I  will  resign  a  crown,  and  make  the  state 
Renew  its  freedom — but  oh !  by  what  means  ? 
The  noble  end  must  justify  them — What 
Are  a  few  drops  of  human  blood  ?  'tis  false, 
The  blood  of  tyrants  is  not  human  ?  they, 
Like  to  incarnate  Molochs,  feed  on  ours, 
Until  'tis  time  to  give  them  to  the  tombs 
Which  they  have  made  so  populous. — Oh  world  1 
Oh  men !  what  are  ye,  and  our  best  designs, 
That  we  must  work  by  crime  to  punish  crime  ? 
And  slay  as  if  Death  had  but  this  one  gate, 
When  a  few  years  would  make  the  sword  super- 
fluous; 

And  I,  upon  the  verge  of  the  unknown  realm, 
Yet  Bund  so  many  heralds  on  before  me? — 
I  must  not  ponder  this. 

Byron. 


©ratlt.  221 


9.  Our  fathers  did  not  fly  from  AttUa 

Into  these  isles,  where  palaces  have  sprung 
On  banks  redeemed  from  the  rude  ocean's  ooze, 
To  own  a  thousand  despots  in  his  place. 
Better  bow  down  before  the  Hun,  and  call 
A  Tartar  lord,  than  these  swoln  silk-worms  masters  ; 
The  first  at  least  was  man,  and  used  his  sword 
As  sceptre  :  these  unmanly  creeping  things 
Command  our  swords,  and  rule  us  with  a  word 
As  with  a  spell. 

Byron. 

10.  The  reason's  obvious:  if  there's  an  e"clat, 

They  lose  their  caste  at  once,  as  do  the  Farias, 
And  when  the  delicacies  of  the  law 
Have  filled  their  papers  with  their  comments 

various, 
Society,  that  china  without  flaw, 

(The  hypocrite  !)  will  banish  them  like  Marius, 
To  sit  amidst  the  ruins  of  their  guilt: 
For  Fame's  a  Carthage  not  so  soon  rebuilt. 

Byron. 

11.  And  since  "there's  safety  in  a  multitude 

Of  counsellors,"  as  Solomon  has  said, 
Or  some  one  for  him,  in  some  sage  grave  mood:  — 

Indeed  we  see  the  daily  proof  displayed 
In  senates,  at  the  bar,  in  wordy  feud, 

Where'er  collective  wisdom  can  parade, 
Which  is  the  only  cause  that  we  can  guess 
Of  Britain's  present  wealth  and  happiness. 

Byron. 


222  ®lt  au&s'js  ©mlt. 


12.  And  therefore  what  I  throw  off  is  ideal  — 

Lowered,  leavened,  like  a  history  of  Freemasons; 
Which  bears  the  same  relation  to  the  real, 

As  Captain  Parry's  voyage  may  do  to  Jason's. 
The  grand  Arcanum's  not  for  men  to  see  all; 

My  music  has  some  mystic  diapasons  ; 
And  there  is  much  which  could  not  be  appreciated 
In  any  manner  by  the  uninitiated. 

Byron. 

13.  When  I  prepared  my  bark  first  to  obey, 

As  it  should  still  obey,  the  helm,  my  mind, 
And  carry  prose  or  rhyme,  and  this  my  lay 

Of  Charles  the  Emperor,  whom  you  will  find 
By  several  pens  already  praised  ;  but  they 

Who  to  diffuse  his  glory  were  inclined, 
For  all  that  I  can  see  in  prose  or  verse, 
Have  understood  Charles  badly  —  and  wrote  worse. 

Byron. 

14.  Oh,  thou  wouldst  have  me  doubtless  set  up  edicts  — 
"Obey  the  king  —  contribute  to  his  treasure  — 
Recruit  his  phalanx  —  spill  your  blood  at  bidding  —  • 
Fall  down  and  worship,  or  get  up  and  toil." 

Or  thus  —  "  Sardanapalus  on  this  spot 
Slew  fifty  thousand  of  his  enemies. 
These  are  their  sepulchres,  and  this  his  trophy." 
I  leave  such  things  to  conquerors  ;  enough 
For  me,  if  I  can  make  my  subjects  feel 
The  weight  of  human  misery  less,  and  glide 
Ungroaning  to  the  tomb  ;  I  take  no  license 
Which  I  deny  to  them.    We  all  are  men. 

Byron. 


'js  ©mle.  223 


15.  Twelve  paladins  had  Charles,  in  court,  of  whom 

The  wisest  and  most  famous  was  Orlando; 
Him  traitor  Gan  conducted  to  the  tomb 

In  Roncesvalles,  as  the  villain  planned  too, 
While  the  horn  rang  so  loud,  and  knelled  the  doom 

Of  their  sad  rout,  though  he  did  all  knight  can  do, 
And  Dante  in  his  comedy  has  given 
To  him  a  happy  seat  with  Charles  in  heaven. 

Byron. 

16.  France  hath  twice  too  well  been  taught 
The  "moral  lesson"  dearly  bought — 
Her  safety  sits  not  on  a  throne, 

With  Capet  or  Napoleon! 

But  in  equal  rights  and  laws, 

Hearts  and  hands  in  one  great  cause — 

Freedom,  such  as  God  hath  given 

Unto  all  beneath  his  heaven, 

With  their  breath,  and  from  their  birth, 

Though  guilt  would  sweep  it  from  the  earth ; 

With  a  fierce  and  lavish  hand 

Scattering  nations'  wealth  like  sand; 

Pouring  nations'  blood"  like  water, 

In  imperial  seas  of  slaughter! 

Byron. 

17.  Survey  the  globe,  each  ruder  realm  explore ; 
From  Reason's  faintest  ray  to  Newton  soar. 
What  different  spheres  to  human  bliss  assigned ! 
What  slow  gradations  in  the  scale  of  mind ! 

Yet  mark  in  each  these  mystic  wonders  wrought; 
Oh  mark  the  sleepless  energies  of  thought! 

Rogers. 


224 


18.  Columbus  erred  not.     In  that  awful  hour, 

Sent  forth  to  save,  and  girt  with  God-like  power, 
And  glorious  as  the  regent  of  the  sun, 
An  angel  came  !     He  spoke,  and  it  was  done  ! 
He  spoke,  and,  at  his  call,  a  mighty  wind, 
Not  like  the  fitful  blast,  with  fury  blind, 
But  deep,  majestic,  in  its  destined  course, 
Sprung  with  unerring,  unrelenting  force, 
From  the  bright  East.    Tides  duly  ebbed  and  flowed  ; 
Stars  rose  and  set  ;  and  new  horizons  glowed  ; 
Yet  still  it  blew  !     As  with  primeval  sway 
Still  did  its  ample  spirit,  night  and  day, 
Move  on  the  waters  !  —  All,  resigned  to  Fate, 
Folded  their  arms  and  sate  ;  and  seemed  to  wait 
Some  sudden  change  ;  and  sought,  in  chill  suspense, 
New  spheres  of  being,  and  new  modes  of  sense  ; 
As  men  departing,  though  not  doomed  to  die, 
And  midway  on  their  passage  to  eternity. 

Rogers. 

19.  On  through  that  gate  misnamed,  through  which 

before 

Went  Sidney,  Russell,  Raleigh,  Cranmer,  More, 
On  into  twilight  within  walls  of  stone, 
Then  to  the  place  of  trial;  and  alone, 
Alone  before  his  judges  in  array 
Stands  for  his  life:  there,  on  that  awful  day, 
Counsel  of  friends  —  all  human  help  denied  — 
All  but  from  her  who  sits  the  pen  to  guide, 
Like  that  sweet  saint  who  sate  by  Russell's  side 
Under  the  judgment-seat. 

Rogers. 


'a  ©ml*.  225 


20.  As  now  at  Virgil's  tomb 

We  bless  the  shade,  and  bid  the  verdure  bloom: 
So  Tally  paused,  amid  the  wrecks  of  Time, 
On  the  rude  stone  to  trace  the  truth  sublime; 
When  at  his  feet,  in  honoured  dust  disclosed, 
The  immortal  Sage  of  Syracuse  reposed. 
And  as  he  long  in  sweet  delusion  hung, 
Where  once  a  Plato  taught,  a  Pindar  sung; 
Who  now  but  meets  him  musing,  when  he  rovea 
His  ruined  Tusculan's  romantic  groves? 
In  Rome's  great  forum,  who  but  hears  him  roll 
His  moral  thunders  o'er  the  subject  soul  ? 

Rogers. 

21.  Nelson  was  once  Britannia's  god  of  war, 

And  still  should  be  so,  but  the  tide  is  turned; 
There's  no  more  to  be  said  of  Trafalgar, 

'Tis  with  our  hero  quietly  inurned ; 
Because  the  army's  grown  more  popular, 

At  which  the  naval  people  are  concerned: 
Besides,  the  prince  is  all  for  the  land-service, 
Forgetting  Duncan,  Nelson,  Howe,  and  Jervis. 

Byron, 

22.  Ask  not  if  courts  or  camps  dissolve  the  charm : 
Say  why  Vespasian  loved  his  Sabine  farm ; 

Why  great  Navarre,  when  France  and  freedom  bled, 

Sought  the  lone  limits  of  a  forest-shed. 

When  Diocletian's  self-corrected  mind 

The  imperial  fasces  of  a  world  resigned, 

Say  why  we  trace  the  labours  of  his  spade, 

In  calm  Salona's  philosophic  shade. 

Rogers. 


226 


23.  And  now  behold  him  in  an  evil  day 
Serving  the  state  again  —  not  as  before, 

Not  foot  to  foot,  the  war-whoop  at  his  door,  — 
But  in  the  Senate;  and  (though  round  him  fly 
The  jest,  the  sneer,  the  subtle  sophistry,) 
With  honest  dignity,  with  manly  sense, 
And  every  charm  of  natural  eloquence, 
Like  Hampden  struggling  in  his  country's  cause, 
The  first,  the  foremost  to  obey  the  laws, 
The  last  to  brook  oppression.     On  he  moves, 
Careless  of  blame  while  his  own  heart  approves, 
Careless  of  ruin  —  ("For  the  general  good 
'Tis  not  the  first  time  I  shall  shed  my  blood.") 

Rogers. 

24.  And  thou,  dread  statue!  yet  existent  in 
The  austerest  form  of  naked  majesty, 
Thou  who  beheldest,  mid  the  assassins'  din, 
At  thy  bathed  base  the  bloody  Caesar  lie, 
Folding  his  robe  in  dying  dignity, 

An  offering  to  thine  altar  from  the  queen 
Of  gods  and  men,  great  Nemesis,  did  he  die? 
And  thou,  too,  perish,  Pompey?  have  ye  been 
Victors  of  countless  kings,  or  puppets  of  a  scene  ? 

Byron. 

25.  Luctatius,  who  the  good  luck  had  to  end 
Rome's  first  great  Punic  war,  did  on  the  land 
By  practice  teach  his  seamen  how  to  mend 
That  discipline  in  peace  by  which  wars  stand; 
As  Philopcemen  made  Achaia  spread 

By  lazy  peace,  yet  lively  governed. 

Lord  Brooke. 


QTlJt  SU&j's  ©ratlt.  227 

26.  Oh!  she  was  good  as  she  was  fair. 
None — none  on  earth  above  her! 
As  pure  in  thought  as  angels  are, 
To  know  her  was  to  love  her. 
When  little,  and  her  eyes,  her  voice, 
Her  every  gesture  said  "rejoice," 
Her  coming  was  a  gladness; 

And,  as  she  grew,  her  modest  grace, 

Her  downcast  look  'twas  heaven  to  trace, 

When,  shading  with  her  hand  her  face, 

She  half  inclined  to  sadness. 

Her  voice,  whate'er  she  said,  enchanted; 

Like  music  to  the  heart  it  went. 

And  her  dark  eyes — how  eloquent! 

Ask  what  they  would,  'twas  granted. 

Her  father  loved  her  as  his  fame ; 

— And  Bayard's  self  had  done  the  same ! 

Rogers. 

27.  Such  as  she  did  at  Allia  of  old, 

When  naked  Gauls  both  took  and  burnt  the  town 
Or  Italy  from  Spartacus  the  bold ; 
When  by  a  slave  their  eagles  were  thrown  down, 
So  that  the  monarch  fell  by  outward  fate, 
Whereas  the  people's  own  faults  shak't  their  state. 

Brooke. 

28.  Indeede  I  finde,  within  this  glasse  of  mine, 
Justinian,  that  proude  vngrateful  prince, 
Which  made  to  begge,  bold  Belisarius 

His  trustie  man,  which  had  so  stoutly  fought 
In  his  defence,  with  eury  enimy. 

Gascoigne. 


228 


29.  Up  rose  St.  Pierre,  when  morning  shone; 
— And  Jacqueline,  his  child,  was  gone  I 

Oh  what  the  maddening  thought  that  came? 

Dishonour  coupled  with  his  name ! 

By  Conde  at  Rocroi  he  stood ; 

By  Turenne,  when  the  Rhine  ran  blood. 

Two  banners  of  Castile  he  gave 

Aloft  in  Notre  Dame  to  wave ; 

Nor  did  thy  cross,  St.  Louis,  rest 

Upon  a  purer,  nobler  breast. 

Rogers. 

30.  Grey,  thou  hast  served,  and  well,  the  sacred  cause 
That  Hampden,  Sidney  died  for.     Thou  hast  stood, 
Scorning  all  thought  of  self,  from  first  to  last, 
Among  the  foremost  in  that  glorious  field ; 
From  first  to  last ;  and,  ardent  as  thou  art, 

Held  on  with  equal  step  as  best  became 
A  lofty  mind,  loftiest  when  most  assailed ; 
Never,  though  galled  by  many  a  barbed  shaft, 
By  many  a  bitter  taunt  from  friend  and  foe, 
Swerving,  nor  shrinking. 

Rogers. 

31.  As  Constantine  the  Great,  that  godly  emperor, 
Here  first  the  Christian  church  that  did  to  peace 

restore, 

Whose  ever-blessed  birth  (as  by  the  power  divine) 
The  Roman  empire  brought  into  the  British  line, 
Constantinople's  crown,  and  the  ancient  Britons' 

glory. 

So  other  here,  we  have  to  finish  up  our  story. 

Drayton. 


'js  ©mlt.  229 


32.  Whoe'er  thou  art,  approach,  and,  with  a  sigh, 
Mark  where  the  small  remains  of  greatness  lie. 
There  sleeps  the  dust  of  Fox  for  ever  gone  ; 
How  near  the  place  where  late  his  glory  shone  ! 
And,  though  no  more  ascends  the  voice  of  prayer, 
Though  the  last  footsteps  cease  to  linger  there, 
Still,  like  an  awful  dream  that  comes  again, 
Alas,  at  best,  as  transient  and  as  vain, 

Still  do  I  see  (while  through  the  vaults  of  night 
The  funeral-song  once  more  proclaims  the  rite) 
The  moving  pomp  along  the  shadowy  aisle, 
That,  like  a  darkness,  filled  the  solemn  pile  ; 
The  illustrious  line,  that  in  long  order  led, 
Of  those    that   loved  him  living,   mourned   him 

dead; 

Of  those  the  few,  that  for  their  country  stood 
Round  him  who  dared  be  singularly  good  ; 
All,  of  all  ranks,  that  claimed  him  for  their  own; 
And  nothing  wanting  —  but  himself  alone  I 

Rogers. 

33.  Sytta  was  first  of  victors  ;  but  our  own 
The  sagest  of  usurpers,  Cromwell  ;  he 

Too  swept  off  senates  while  he  hewed  the  throne 
Down  to  a  block  —  immortal  rebel  !     See 
What  crimes  it  costs  to  be  a  moment  free 
And  famous  through  all  ages  !  but  beneath 
His  fate  the  moral  lurks  of  destiny  ; 
His  day  of  double  victory  and  death 
Beheld  him  win  two  realms,  and,  happier,  yield  hia 
breath. 

Byron. 
20 


230 


34.  Can  tyrants  but  by  tyrants  conquered  be, 
And  freedom  find  no  champion  and  no  child 
Such  as  Columbia  saw  arise  when  she 
Sprung  forth  a  Pallas,  armed  and  undefiled  ? 
Or  must  such  minds  be  nourished  in  the  wild, 
Deep  in  the  unpruned  forest,  midst  the  roar 
Of  cataracts,  where  nursing  Nature  smiled 
On  infant  Washington?    Has  earth  no  more 
Such  seeds  within  her  breast,  or  Europe  no  such 

shore? 

Byron. 

35.  Then  turn  we  to  her  latest  tribune's  name, 
From  her  ten  thousand  tyrants  turn  to  thee, 
Kedeemer  of  dark  centuries  of  shame — 
The  friend  of  Petrarch — hope  of  Italy — 
Rienzi!  last  of  Komans!  .  While  the  tree 

Of  freedom's  withered  trunk  puts  forth  a  leaf, 
Even  for  thy  tomb  a  garland  let  it  be — 
The  forum's  champion,  and  the  people's  chief—- 
Her new-born  Numa  thou — with  reign,  alas!  too 
brief. 

Byron. 

36.  On  these  states,  what  true  judgment  can  we  lay 
Which  by  the  arts  of  crafty  tyranny, 

So  to  their  ends  do  people's  humours  sway, 
As  thrones  right  grow  a  kind  of  mystery? 
Whence  Mahomet  himself  an  idol  makes, 
And  draws  mankind  to  Mecha  for  his  sake. 

Brooke. 


Qftt  la&2'js  (Emit.  231 

37.  "When  riseth  Lacedemon's  hardihood, 
When  Thebes  Epaminondas  rears  again, 
When  Athens'  children  are  with  hearts  endued, 
When  Grecian  mothers  shall  give  birth  to  men, 
Then  mayst  thou  be  restored;  but  not  till  then. 
A  thousand  years  scarce  serve  to  form  a  state ; 
An  hour  may  lay  it  in  the  dust ;  and  when 
Can  man  its  shattered  splendour  renovate, 
Recall  its  virtues  back,  and  vanquish  time  and  fate? 

Byron. 

38.  For  it  is  not  to  them  of  banishment 
Sufficient  ground,  to  be  reputed  just? 
What  other  cause  was  there  of  discontent 
'Gainst  Arislides,  but  his  worth's  mistrust? 
How  used  they  him  that  conquered  Marathon? 
Or  him  who  Xerxes'  host  had  overthrown? 

Brooke. 

39.  What  did  it  profit  the  great  Charles  the  Fifi 
To  traffic  with  the  proud  simplicity 

Of  German  princes,  by  unprincely  shift, 
Mislettered  writs,  a  conclave  subtilty? 
Since  ill  fate  then,  and  ever  did  befall 
That  broken  faith  aspirers  work  withal. 

Brooke. 

40.  Like  Cromwell's  pranks;  but  although  truth  exacts 
These  amiable  descriptions  from  the  scribes, 

As  most  essential  to  their  hero's  story, 
They  do  not  much  contribute  to  his  glory. 

Byron. 


232 


41.  Of  this  kind  Solon  was  in  Athens  one; 
Lycurgus  cobwebs  over  Sparta  spread; 
The  Locrians  by  Seleucus  nets  were  known, 
By  Zoroasters  Bactria  was  misled  ; 

Numa  was  he  that  first  enthralled  Rome, 
And  nature's  freedom  under  legal  doom. 

Brooke. 

42.  Hence  again  France,  though  ever  martial  bent, 
"Was  by  her  late  Fourth  Henry's  policy 
Known  for  a  paradise-like  continent, 

Who  out  of  that  discerned  fertility 

Both  multiplied  the  crown,  and  people's  part, 

By  nature's  emulation  with  his  art. 

Brooke. 

43.  Lewis  the  Eleventh,  of  craft,  not  majesty, 

The  perfect  type,  being  asked  what  the  crown 
Revenues  might  of  France  amount  to  be, 
Said,  France  a  meadow  was,  which,  mow  it  down 
As  oft  as  need,  or  pleasure  did  require, 
Would  yet  grow  up  again  to  feed  desire. 

Brooke. 

44.  And  Fabius,  surnamed  Maximus, 

Could  ioyne  such  learning  with  experience, 
As  made  his  name  more  famous  than  the  rest. 

Gascoigne. 

45.  0  that  al  kings  would  (Alexander  like) 

Hold  euermore,  one  finger  streight  stretcht  out, 
To  thrust  in  eyes,  of  all  their  master  theeues. 

Gascoigne. 


i,a&2'5  ©radt.  233 


46.  They  saw  at  Canterbury  the  Cathedral ; 

Black  Edward's  helm,  and  Beckett's  bloody  stone, 
Were  pointed  out  as  usual  by  the  bedral, 

In  the  same  quaint,  uninterested  tone: 
There's  glory  again  for  you,  gentle  reader!  all 

Ends  in  a  rusty  casque  and  dubious  bone, 
Half-solved  into  those  sodas  or  magnesias, 
Which  form  that  bitter  draught,  the  human  species. 

Byron. 

47.  Among  the  first, — I  will  not  say  the  first, 

For  such  precedence  upon  such  occasions 
Will  oftentimes  make  deadly  quarrels  burst 

Out  between  friends  as  well  as  allied  nations; 
The  Briton  must  be  bold  who  really  durst 

Put  to  such  trial  John  Bull's  partial  patience, 
As  say  that  Wellington  at  Waterloo 
Was  beaten, — though  the  Prussians  say  so  too. 

Byron. 

48.  I  am  neither  Alexander  nor  Hephaestion, 

Nor  ever  had  for  abstract  fame  much  passion ; 
But  would  much  rather  have  a  sound  digestion, 

Than  Bonaparte's  cancer: — could  I  dash  on 
Through  fifty  victories  to  shame  or  fame, 
Without  a  stomach — what  were  a  good  name? 

Byron. 

49.  Her  next  amusement  was  more  fanciful; 

She  smiled  at  mad  Suwarrow's  rhymes,  who  threw 
Into  a  Russian  couplet,  rather  dull, 

The  whole  gazette  of  thousands  whom  he  slew. 

Byron. 
20* 


234 


50.  And  Scypio,  condemnes  the  Romaine  rule, 
Which  suffred  him  (that  had  so  truely  serued) 
To  leade  pore  life,  at  his  (Lynternum) 'ferine, 
Which  did  deserue,  such  worthy  recompence. 
Yea  herewithal  most  Souldiours  of  our  time 
Beleeve  for  truth,  that  proude  Justinian 
Did  neuer  die,  without  good  store  of  heyres. 
And  Romanes  race,  cannot  be  rooted  out, 
Such  yssence  springs,  of  such*  vnplesant  budds. 

Gascoigne. 


10  pur 


W,  seraph-winged,  among  the  stars  we  soar; 
Now  distant  ages,  like  a  day,  explore, 
And  judge  the  act,  the  actor  now  no  more ; 
Or,  in  a  thankless  hour  condemned  to  live, 
From  others  claim  what  these  refuse  to  give, 
And  dart,  like  Milton,  an  unerring  eye 
Through  the  dim  curtains  of  Futurity. 

Rogers. 

2.  I  saw  the  sun  go  down! — Ah,  then  'twas  thine 
Ne'er  to  forget  some  volume  half  divine, 
Shakspeare's  or  Dryden's — through  the  checkered 

shade 

Borne  in  thy  hand  behind  thee  as  we  strayed ; 
And  where  we  sate  (and  many  a  halt  we  made) 
To  read  there  with  a  fervour  all  thine  own, 
And  in  thy  grand  and  melancholy  tone, 
Some  splendid  passage  not  to  thee  unknown, 

Fit  theme  for  long  discourse. 

Rogers. 
236 


236  aft*  laic's  ©ml*. 

3.  Can  Virgil's  verse,  can  Raphael's  touch  impart 
Those  finer  features  of  the  feeling  heart, 
Those  tenderer  tints  that  shun  the  careless  eye, 
And  in  the  world's  contagious  climate  die? 

Rogers. 

4.  Nor  boast,  0  Choisy,  seat  of  soft  delight, 
The  secret  charm  of  thy  voluptuous  night. 
Vain  is  the  blaze  of  wealth,  the  pomp  of  power! 
Lo,  here,  attendant  on  the  shadowy  hour, 

Thy  closet-supper,  served  by  hands  unseen, 

Sheds,  like  an  evening-star,  its  ray  serene, 

To  hail  our  coming.     Not  a  step  profane 

Dares,  with  rude  sound,  the  cheerful  rite  restrain; 

And,  while  the  frugal  banquet  glows  revealed, 

Pure  and  unbought, — the  natives  of  my  field; 

While    blushing   fruits    through    scattered    leaves 

invite, 

Still  clad  in  bloom,  and  veiled  in  azure  light; — 
With  wine,  as  rich  in  years  as  Horace  sings, 
With  water,  clear  as  his  own  fountain  flings, 
The  shifting  side-board  plays  its  humbler  part, 
Beyond  the  triumphs  of  a  Loriot's  art. 

Rogers. 

5.  Plato  ('tis  true)  great  Homer  doth  commend, 

Yet  from  his  common-weale  did  him  exile ; 
Nor  is  it  words,  that  doe  with  words  contend, 

Of  deeds  they  vary,  and  demurre  of  stile: 
"How  to  please  all,  as  no  words  yet  could  tell; 
So  what  one  act  did  all  yet  censure  well?" 

Lord  Brooke. 


Qftt  IK&J'JS  ©raxlj.  237 

6.  Ferrara!  in  thy  wide  and  grass-grown  streets, 
Whose  symmetry  was  not  for  solitude, 
There  seems  as  'twere  a  curse  upon  the  seats 
Of  former  sovereigns,  and  the  antique  brood 
Of  Este,  which  for  many  an  age  made  good 
Its  strength  within  thy  walls,  and  was  of  yore 
Patron  or  tyrant,  as  the  changing  mood 

Of  petty  power  impelled,  of  those  who  wore 
The  wreath  which  Dante? s  brow  alone  had  worn  before. 

Byron. 

7.  And  Tasso  is  their  glory  and  their  shame. 
Hark  to  his  strain!  and  then  survey  his  cell! 
And  see  how  dearly  earned  Torquato's  fame, 
And  where  Alfonso  bade  his  poet  dwell: 
The  miserable  despot  could  not  quell 

The  insulted  mind  he  sought  to  quench,  and  blend 
With  the  surrounding  maniacs,  in  the  hell 
Where  he  had  plunged  it.     Glory  without  end 
Scattered  the  clouds  away — and  on  that  name  attend. 

Byron. 

8.  The  lightning  rent  from  Ariosto's  bust 

The  iron  crown  of  laurel's  mimicked  leaves; 
Nor  was  the  ominous  element  unjust, 
For  the  true  laurel-wreath  which  glory  weaves 
Is  of  the  tree  no  bolt  of  thunder  cleaves, 
And  the  false  semblance  but  disgraced  his  brow; 
Yet  still,  if  fondly  superstition  grieves, 
Know  that  the  lightning  sanctifies  below 
Whate'er  it  strikes ; — yon  head  is  doubly  sacred  now. 

Byron. 


238  Oft*  3U&2'js  ©ml*. 

9.  Ungrateful  Florence !    Dante  sleeps  afar, 
Like  Scipio,  buried  by  the  upbraiding  shore; 
Thy  factions,  in  their  worse  than  civil  war, 
Proscribed  the  bard  whose  name  for  evermore 
Their  children's  children  would  in  vain  adore 
With  the  remorse  of  ages ;  and  the  crown 
Which  Petrarch's  laureate  brow  supremely  wore, 
Upon  a  far  and  foreign  soil  had  grown, 
His  life,  his  fame,  his  grave,  though  rifled — not  thine 
own. 

Byron. 

10.  No  matter — when  some  bard,  in  virtue  strong, 
Giffbrd  perchance,  shall  raise  the  chastening  song, 
Then  sleep  my  pen  for  ever !  and  my  voice 

Be  only  heard  to  hail  him  and  rejoice; 
Rejoice,  and  yield  my  feeble  praise;  though  I 
May  feel  the  lash  that  virtue  must  apply. 

Byron. 

11.  And  thou,  melodious  Rogers!  rise  at  last, 
Recall  the  pleasing  memory  of  the  past ; 
Arise !  let  blest  remembrance  still  inspire, 
And  strike  to  wonted  tones  thy  hallowed  lyre ! 
Restore  Apollo  to  his  vacant  throne, 

Assert  thy  country's  honour  and  thine  own. 

Byron. 

12.  What!  must  deserted  Poesy  still  weep 
Where  her  last  hopes  with  pious  Cowper  sleep  ? 
Unless,  perchance,  from  his  cold  bier  she  turns, 
To  deck  the  turf  that  wraps  her  minstrel  Burns! 

Byron. 


Qlflt  3U&s'J5  ©ratl*.  239 


13.  Time  was,  ere  yet  in  these  degenerate  days 
Ignoble  themes  obtained  mistaken  praise, 
When  Sense  and  Wit  with  poesy  allied, 
No  fabled  Graces,  flourished  side  by  side, 
From  the  same  fount  their  inspiration  drew, 
And,  reared   by  Taste,   bloomed  fairer  as  they 

grew. 

Then,  in  this  happy  isle,  a  Pope's  pure  strain 
Sought  the  rapt  soul  to  charm,  nor  sought  in  vain; 
A  polished  nation's  praise  aspired  to  claim, 
And  raised  the  people's,  as  the  poet's  fame. 

Byron. 

14.  Unhappy  White!  while  life  was  in  its  spring, 
And  thy  young  muse  just  waved  her  joyous  wing, 
The  spoiler  came,  and  all  thy  promise  fair 

Has  sought  the  grave,  to  sleep  for  ever  there. 
Oh!  what  a  noble  heart  was  here  undone, 
When  Science'  self  destroyed  her  favourite  son! 
Yes !  she  too  much  indulged  thy  fond  pursuit, 
She  sowed  the  seeds,  but  death  has  reaped  the  fruit. 
'Twas  thine  own  genius  gave  the  final  blow, 
And  helped  to  plant  the  wound  that  laid  thee  low: 
So  the  struck  eagle,  stretched  upon  the  plain, 
No  more  through  rolling  clouds  to  soar  again, 
Viewed  his  own  feather  on  the  fatal  dart, 
And  winged  the  shaft  that  quivered  in  his  heart: 
Keen  were  his  pangs,  but  keener  far  to  feel 
He  nursed  the  pinion  which  impelled  the  steel, 
While  the  same  plumage  that  had  warmed  his  nest 
Drank  the  last  life-drop  of  his  bleeding  breast. 

Byron. 


240  ®5<  fairs'*  ©ml*. 


15.  To  the  famed  throng  now  paid  the  tribute  due, 
Neglected  Genius !  let  me  turn  to  you. 

Come  forth,  0  Campbell!  give  thy  talents  scope, 
Who  dares  aspire  if  thou  must  cease  to  hope? 

Byron. 

16.  Or,  if  aught  in  my  bosom  can  quench  for  an  hour 

My  contempt  for  a  nation  so  servile,  though  sore, 
Which  though  trod  like  the  worm  will  not  turn 

upon  power, 

'Tis  the  glory  of  Grattan,  and  genius  of  Moore. 

Byron. 

17.  Say — shall  this  new,  nor  less  aspiring  pile,  . 
Reared  where  once  rose  the  mightiest  in  our  isle, 
Know  the  same  favour  which  the  former  knew, 
A  shrine  for  Shakspeare — worthy  him  and  you  ? 

Byron. 

18.  Some  persons  think  that  Coleridge  hath  the  sway; 
And  Wordsworth  has  supporters,  two  or  three ; 
And  that  deep-mouthed  Boeotian  "  Savage  Landor," 
Has  taken  for  a  swan  rogue  Southey's  gander. 

Byron. 

19.  John  Keats — who  was  killed  off  by  one  critique, 

Just  as  he  really  promised  something  great, 
If  not  intelligible,  without  Greek 

Contrived  to  talk  about  the  gods  of  late, 
Much  as  they  might  have  been  supposed  to  speak. 

Poor  fellow !  his  was  an  untoward  fate : 
'Tis  strange  the  mind,  that  very  fiery  particle, 
Should  let  itself  be  snuffed  out  by  an  article. 

Byron. 


la&s's  ©mle.  241 


20.  Montgomery!  true,  the  common  lot 

Of  mortals  lies  in  Lethe's  wave ; 
Yet  some  shall  never  be  forgot — 
Some  shall  exist  beyond  the  grave. 

Byron. 

21.  Oh!  who,  that  has  ever  had  rapture  complete, 
Would  ask  how  we  feel  it,  or  why  it  is  sweet; 
How  rays  are  confused,  or  how  particles  fly 
Through  the  medium  refined  of  a  glance  or  a  sigh ! 
Is  there  one,  who  but  once  would  not  rather  have 

known  it, 

Than  written,  with  Harvey,  whole  volumes  upon  it? 

Moore. 

22.  Where  Epicurus  taught  the  Loves 

To  polish  virtue's  native  brightness, 
Just  as  the  beak  of  playful  doves 

Can  give  to  pearls  a  smoother  whiteness ! 

Moore. 

23.  Well — peace  to  thy  heart,  though  another's  it  be, 
And  health  to  thy  cheek,  though  it  bloom  not  for  me ! 
To-morrow,  I  sail  for  those  cinnamon  groves, 
Where  nightly  the  ghost  of  the  Carribee  roves, 
And,  far  from  thine  eye,  oh !  perhaps,  I  may  yet 
Its  seduction  forgive  and  its  splendour  forget ! 
Farewell  to  Bermuda,  and  long  may  the  bloom 

Of  the  lemon  and  myrtle  its  valleys  perfume ; 

May  spring  to  eternity  hallow  the  shade 

Where  Ariel  has  warbled  and  Waller  has  strayed! 

Moore. 
21 


242  q%t  3U&j'a  ©rwlt. 


24.  Believe  me,  Spenser,  while  I  winged  the  hours 
Where   Schuylkill    undulates    through  banks   of 

flowers, 

Though  few  the  days,  the  happy  evenings  few, 
So  warm  with  heart,  so  rich  with  mind  they  flew, 
That  my  full  soul  forgot  its  wish  to  roam, 
And  rested  there,  as  in  a  dream  of  home ! 
And  looks  I  met,  like  looks  I  loved  before, 
And  voices  too,  which,  as  they  trembled  o'er 
The  chord  of  memory,  found  full  many  a  tone 
Of  kindness  there  in  concord  with  their  own ! 
Oh !  we  had  nights  of  that  communion  free, 
That  flush  of  heart,  which  I  have  known  with  thee 
So  oft,  so  warmly ;  nights  of  mirth  and  mind, 
Of  whims  that  taught,  and  follies  that  refined: 
When  shall  we  both  renew  them?  when  restored 
To  the  pure  feast  and  intellectual  board, 
Shall  I  once  more  enjoy  with  thee  and  thine 
Those  whims  that  teach,  those  follies  that  refine? 
Even  now,  as  wandering  upon  Erie's  shore, 
I  hear  Niagara's  distant  cataract  roar, 
I  sigh  for  England — oh !  these  weary  feet 
Have  many  a  mile  to  journey,  ere  we  meet! 

Moore. 

t 

25.  By  Ilissus'  stream 

We    whispering  walked   along,   and   learned   to 


The  tenderest  feelings  in  the  purest  Greek; 
Ah !  then  how  little  did  we  think  or  hope, 
Dearest  of  men!  that  I  should  e'er  be  Pope! 

Moore. 


®!)e  Isbtfg  ©tatie  243 

26.  My  heart  was  full  of  Fancy's  dream, 
And,  as  I  watched  the  playful  stream, 
Entangling  in  its  net  of  smiles 

So  fair  a  group  of  elfin  isles, 
I  felt  as  if  the  scenery  there 

Were  lighted  by  a  Grecian  sky— 
As  if  I  breathed  the  blissful  air 

That  yet  was  warm  with  Sappho's  sigh! 

Moore. 

27.  Should  you  feel  any  touch  of  poetical  glow, 
We've  a  scheme  to  suggest — Mr.  Scott,  you  must 

know, 

(Who,  we're  sorry  to  say  it,  now  works  for  the  How,) 
Having  quitted  the  borders  to  seek  new  renown, 
Is  coming,  by  long  quarto  stages,  to  town, 
And  beginning  with  Rokeby  (the  job's  sure  to  pay) 
Means  to  do  all  the  gentlemen's  seats  on  the  way. 
Now  the  scheme  is  (though  none  of  our  hackneys 

can  beat  him) 

To  start  a  fresh  poet  through  Highgate  to  meet  him; 
Who,  by  means  of  quick  proofs — no  revises — long 

coaches — 

May  do  a  few  Villas  before  Scott  approaches — 
Indeed,  if  our  Pegasus  be  not  curst  shabby, 
He'll  reach,  without  foundering,  at  least  Woburn- 

Abbey. 

Moore. 

28.  Herodotus  wrote  most  in  bed; 

And  Richerand,  a  French  physician, 
Declares  the  clock-work  of  the  head 
Goes  best  in  that  reclined  position. 

Moore. 


244 


29.  Dear  Doll,  while  the  tails  of  our  horses  are  plaiting, 

The  trunks  tying  on,  and  papa  at  the  door, 

Into  very  bad  French  is,  as  usual,  translating 

His  English  resolve  not  to  give  a  sou  more, 

I  sit  down  to  write  you  a  line  —  only  think!  — 

A  letter  from  France,  with  French  pens  and  French 

ink, 
How  delightful!  though,  would  you  believe  it,  my 

dear? 

I  have  seen  nothing  yet  very  wonderful  here  ; 
No  adventure,  no  sentiment,  far  as  we've  come, 
But  the  corn-fields  and  trees  quite  as  dull  as  at 

home; 

And,  but  for  the  post-boy,  his  boots,  and  his  queue, 
I  might  just  as  well  be  at  Clonskilty  with  you! 
In  vain,  at  Dessein's,  did  I  take  from  my  trunk 
That  divine  fellow,  Sterne,  and  fall  reading  "The 

Monk!" 

In  vain  did  I  think  of  his  charming  dead  ass, 
And  remember  the  crust  and  the  wallet  —  alas  ! 
No  monks  can  be  had  now  for  love  or  for  money, 
(All  owing,  pa  says,  to  that  infidel  Boney;) 
And,  though  one  little  Neddy  we  saw  in  our  drive 
Out  of  classical  Nampont,  the  beast  was  alive! 

Moore. 

30.  Your  lordship  beats  Tiberius  hollow  ; 

Whips,  chains,  —  but  these  are  things  too  serious 

For  to  me  to  mention  or  discuss  ; 
Whene'er  your  lordship  acts  Tiberius, 

Phil.  Fudge's  part  is  Tacitus  I 

Moore. 


Oft*  3U&s'JS  ©ratlt.  245 

31.  If  you  consult  Montaigne  and  Pliny  on 
The  subject,  'tis  their  joint  opinion 
That  Thought  its  richest  harvest  yields 
Abroad,  among  the  woods  and  fields ; 
That  bards,  who  deal  in  small  retail, 

At  home  may,  at  their  counters,  stop : 
But  that  the  grove,  the  hill,  the  vale, 
Are  Poesy's  true  wholesale  shop. 

Moore. 

32.  If  thus  I've  felt,  how  must  they  feel, 

The  few,  whom  genuine  genius  warms, 
And  stamps  upon  their  soul  his  seal, 

Graven  with  beauty's  countless  forms ; — 
The  few  upon  this  earth  who  seem 
Born  to  give  truth  to  Plato's  dream, 
Since  in  their  souls,  as  in  a  glass, 

Shadows  of  things  divine  appear — 
Reflections  of  bright  forms  that  pass 

Through  fairer  worlds  beyond  our  sphere ! 

Moore. 

33.  But  Luther's  light  had  too  much  warmed  mankind 
For  Hampden's  truths  to  linger  long  behind ; 

Nor  then,  when  king-like  popes  had  fallen  so  low, 
Could  pope-like  kings  escape  the  levelling  blow. 
That  ponderous  sceptre,  (in  whose  place  we  bow 
To  the  light  talisman  of  influence  now,) 
Too  gross,  too  visible  to  work  the  spell 
Which  modern  power  performs,  in  fragments  fell : 
In  fragments  lay,  till,  patched  and  painted  o'er 
With  fleurs-de-lys,  it  shone  and  scourged  once  more  I 

Moore. 
a* 


246  qfot  ia&s'a  ©ml*. 


34.  Sir  Kobert  Filmer  says — and  he, 

Of  course,  knew  all  about  the  matter — 
"Both  men  and  beasts  love  monarchy;" 

Which  proves  how  rational — the  latter. 
Sidney,  indeed,  we  know,  had  quite 
A  different  notion  from  the  knight; 
Nay,  hints  a  king  may  lose  his  head 

By  slipping  awkwardly  his  bridle: 
But  this  is  Jacobin,  ill-bred, 
Arid  (now-a-days,  when  kings  are  led 

In  patient  snaffles)  downright  idle. 

Moore. 

35.  Thus  did  Soame  Jenyns — though  a  Tory, 

A  lord  of  trade  and  the  plantations — 
Feel  how  religion's  simple  glory 
Is  stained  by  state  associations. 

Moore. 

36.  That  in  this  hour,  when  patriot  zeal  should  guide, 
When  mind  should  rule,  and — Fox  should  not  have 

died. 

Moore. 

37.  "  List  not  to  reason,"  Epicurus  cries, 
"But  trust  the  senses,  there  conviction  lies:" 
Alas!  they  judge  not  by  a  purer  light, 

Nor  keep  their  fountains  more  untinged  and  bright: 
Habit  so  mars  them,  that  the  Russian  swain 
Will  sigh  for  train-oil  while  he  sips  champagne; 
And  health  so  rules  them,  that  a  fever's  heat 
Would  make  even  Sheridan  think  water  sweet! 

Moore. 


®f)*  ia&s'jer  ©raxlt.  247 

38.  By  Tory  Hume's  seductive  page  beguiled, 

We  fancy  Charles  was  just  and  Strafford  mild ; 
And  Fox  himself,  with  party  pencil,  draws 
Monmouth  a  hero,  "for  the  good  old  cause!" 
Then,  rights  are  wrongs,  and  victories  are  defeats, 
As  French  or  English  pride  the  tale  repeats ; 
And,  when  they  tell  Corunna's  story  o'er, 
They'll  disagree  in  all,  but  honouring  Moore ! 

Moore. 

39.  In  science  too — how  many  a  system,  raised 
Like  Neva's  icy  domes,  awhile  hath  blazed 
With  lights  of  fancy  and  with  forms  of  pride, 
Then,  melting,  mingled  with  the  oblivious  tide. 
Now  earth  usurps  the  centre  of  the  sky, 

Now  Newton  puts  the  paltry  planet  by ; 
Now  whims  revive  beneath  Descartes's  pen, 
Which  now,  assailed  by  Locke's,  expire  again: 
And  when,  perhaps,  in  pride  of  chemic  powers, 
We  think  the  keys  of  Nature's  kingdom  ours, 
Some  Davy's  magic  touch  the  dream  unsettles,  . 
And  turns  at  once  our  alkalis  to  metals ! 

Moore. 

40.  Give  me  the  harp  of  epic  song, 
Which  Homer's  finger  thrilled  along ; 
But  tear  away  the  sanguine  string, 
For  war  is  not  the  theme  I  sing. 
Proclaim  the  laws  of  festal  rite, 

I'm  monarch  of  the  board  to-night ; 
And  all  around  shall  brim  as  high, 

And  quaff  the  tide  as  deep  as  I ! 

Moore. 


248  gtfr  latstfs  ©ratle. 

41.  0  Learning!  Learning!  whatsoe'er  thy  boast, 
Unlettered  minds  have  taught  and  charmed  us  most : 
The  rude,  unread  Columbus  was  our  guide 

To  worlds  which  learned  Lactantius  had  denied, 
And  one  wild  Shakspeare,  following  Nature's  lights, 
Is  worth  whole  planets  filled  with  Stagyrites  I 

Moore. 

42.  Oh  thou !  whatever  title  please  thine  ear — 
Dean,  Drapier,  Bickerstaff,  or  Gulliver! 
Whether  thou  choose  Cervantes'  serious  air, 
Or  laugh  and  shake  in  Rabelais'  easy  chair, 
Or  praise  the  court,  or  magnify  mankind, 

Or  thy  grieved  country's  copper  chains  unbind, 
From  thy  Boeotia  though  her  power  retires, 
Mourn  not,  my  Swift,  at  aught  our  realm  acquires. 
Here  pleased  behold  her  mighty  wings  outspread 
To  hatch  a  new  Saturnian  age  of  lead. 

Pope. 

43.  Next  o'er  his  books  his  eyes  began  to  roll, 
In  pleasing  memory  of  all  he  stole, 

How  here  he  sipped,  how  here  he  plundered  snug, 
And  sucked  all  o'er  like  an  industrious  bug. 
Here  lay  poor  Fletcher's  half-eat  scenes,  and  here 
The  frippery  of  crucified  Moliere: 
There  hapless  Shakspeare,  yet  of  Tibbald  sore, 
Wished  he  had  blotted  for  himself  before. 

Pope. 

44.  Be  thine,  my  stationer!  this  magic  gift; 
Cook  shall  be  Prior:  and  Concanen,  Swift. 

Pope. 


'tf  ©ratlt.  249 


45.  Small  thanks  to  France,  and  none  to  Rome  or  Greece, 
A  past,  vamped,  future,  old,  revived,  new  piece, 
'Twixt  Plautus,  Fletcher,  Shakspeare,  and  Corneille, 
Can  make  a  Gibber,  Tibbald,  or  Ozell. 

Pope. 

46.  So  shall  each  hostile  name  become  our  own, 
And  we  too  boast  our  Garth  and  Addison. 

Pope. 

47.  Earless  on  high,  stood  unabashed  De  Foe, 
And  Tutcbin  flagrant  from  the  scourge  below. 

Pope. 

48.  Yet  oh,  my  sons,  a  father's  words  attend: 

(So  may  the  fates  preserve  the  ears  you  lend:) 
'Tis  yours,  a  Bacon  or  a  Locke  to  blame, 
A  Newton's  genius,  or  a  Milton's  flame: 
But  oh  !  with  One,  immortal  One  dispense, 
The  source  of  Newton's  light,  of  Bacon's  sense. 

Pope. 

49.  See  under  Ripley  rise  a  new  Whitehall, 
While  Jones'  and  Boyle's  united  labours  fall  ; 
While  Wren  with  sorrow  to  the  grave  descends, 
Gay  dies  unpensioned,  with  a  hundred  friends  ; 
Hibernian  politics,  0  Swift!  thy  fate; 

And  Pope's,  ten  years  to  comment  and  translate. 

Pope. 

50.  There  sunk  Thalia,  nerveless,  cold,  and  dead, 
Had  not  her  sister  Satire  held  her  head  : 
Nor  couldat  thou,  Chesterfield!  a  tear  refuse! 
Thou  wept'st,  and  with  thee  wept  each  gentle  muse. 

Pope. 


Htyirlj  10  ipntr  /mnrartte 


fOR  yet  quite  deserted,  though  lonely  extended, 
For,  faithful  in  death,  his  mute  favourite  attended, 
The  much  loved  remains  of  her  master  defended, 
And  chased  the  hill  fox  and  the  Raven  away. 

Scott. 

2.  'Twas  a  fair  scene !  the  sunbeam  lay 
On  battled  tower  and  portal  gray, 
And  from  the  grassy  slope  he  sees 
The  Greta  flow  to  meet  the  Tees, 
Where,  issuing  from-  her  darksome  bed, 
She  caught  the  morning's  eastern  red, 
And  through  the  softening  vale  below 
Rolled  her  bright  waves  in  rosy  glow, 
All  blushing  to  her  bridal  bed, 
Like  some  shy  maid  in  convent  bred, 
While  linnet,  lark,  and  Blackbird  gay, 
Sing  forth  her  nuptial  roundelay. 


250 


Scott. 


©tatlt.  251 


3.  But  meeter  for  thee,  gentle  lover  of  nature, 

To  lay  down  thy  head  like  the  meek  mountain  lamb  ; 
When,  wildered,  he  drops  from  some  cliff  huge  in 

stature, 

And  draws  his  last  sob  by  the  side  of  his  dam. 
And  more  stately  thy  couch  by  this  desert  lake  lying 
Thy  obsequies  sung  by  the  Gray  Plover  flying, 
With  one  faithful  friend  but  to  witness  thy  dying, 
In  the  arms  of  Hellvellyn  and  Catchedicam. 

Scott. 

4.  The  Bittern  clamoured  from  the  moss, 

The  wind  blew  loud  and  shrill  ; 
Yet  the  craggy  pathway  she  did  cross, 
To  the  eiry  beacon  hill. 

Scott. 

5.  As  from  the  bosom  of  the  sky 

The  Eagle  darts  amain, 
Three  bounds  from  yonder  summit  high 
Placed  Harold  on  the  plain. 

Scott. 

6.  As  the  scared  wild-fowl  scream  and  fly, 

So  fled  the  bridal  train  ;     , 
As  'gainst  the  eagle's  peerless  might 
The  noble  Falcon  dares  the  fight, 

But  dares  the  fight  in  vain, 
So  fought  the  bridegroom  ;  from  his  hand 
The  Dane's  rude  mace  has  struck  his  brand, 
Its  glittering  fragments  strew  the  sand, 

Its  lord  lies  on  the  plain. 

Scott. 


252  ®ljt  3Ubs'*  ©ratle. 


7.  Each  bird  of  evil  omen  woke, 
The  raven  gave  his  fatal  croak, 

And  shrieked  the  night-crow  from  the  oak, 
The  Screech-owl  from  the  thicket  broke, 

And  fluttered  down  the  dell ! 
So  fearful  was  the  sound  and  stern, 
The  slumbers  of  the  full-gorged  erne 
Were  startled,  and  from  furze  and  fern, 

Of  forest  and  of  fell, 
The  fox  and  famished  wolf  replied, 
(For  wolves  then  prowled  the  Cheviot  side,) 
From  mountain  head  to  mountain  head 
The  unhallowed  sounds  around  were  sped; 
But  when  their  latest  echo  fled, 
The  sorceress  on  the  ground  lay  dead. 

Scott. 

8.  The  hunting  tribes  of  air  and  earth 
Respect  the  brethren  of  their  birth; 
Nature,  who  loves  the  claim  of  kind, 
Less  cruel  chase  to  each  assigned. 
The  falcon  poised  on  soaring  wing, 
Watches  the  Wild-duck  by  the  spring; 
The  slow-hound  wakes  the  fox's  lair, 
The  grey-hound  presses  on  the  hare; 
The  eagle  pounces  on  the  lamb, 

The  .wolf  devours  the  fleecy  dam; 
E'en  tiger  fell,  and  sullen  bear, 
Their  likeness  and  their  lineage  spare. 
Man,  only,  mars  kind  nature's  plan, 
And  turns  the  fierce  pursuit  on  man. 

Scott. 


'*  ©ml*.  253 


9.  Hoarse  into  middle  air  arose 
The  vesper  of  the  roosting  Crows, 
And  with  congenial  murmurs  seem 
To  wake  the  genii  of  the  stream. 

Scott. 

10.  Autumn  departs — but  still  his  mantle's  fold 

Rests  on  the  groves  of  noble  Somerville, 
Beneath  a  shroud  of  russet  dropped  with  gold, 

Tweed  and  his  tributaries  mingle  still ; 
Hoarser  the  wind,  and  deeper  sounds  the  rill 

Yet  lingering  notes  of  sylvan  music  swell, 
The  deep-toned  Cushat,  and  the  redbreast  shrill ; 

And  yet  some  tints  of  summer  splendour  tell 
When  the  broad  sun  sinks  down  on  Ettrick's  west- 
ern fell. 

Scott. 

11.  The  shores  of  Mull  on  the  eastward  lay, 
And  Ulva  dark  and  Colonsay, 

And  all  the  group  of  islets  gay 

That  guard  famed  Staffa  round. 
Then  all  unknown  its  columns  rose, 
Where  dark  and  undisturbed  repose 

The  Cormorant  had  found, 
And  the  shy  seal  had  quiet  home, 
And  weltered  in  that  wonderous  dome, 
Where,  as  to  shame  the  temples  decked 
By  skill  of  earthly  architect, 
Nature  herself,  it  seemed,  would  raise 
A  minster  to  her  Maker's  praise  I 

Scott. 

22 


254 


12.  See,  sister,  where  the  Chickens  trip, 

All  busy  in  the  morn; 
Look!  how  their  heads  they  dip  and  dip, 

To  peck  the  scattered  corn. 
Dear  sister,  shall  we  shut  our  eyes, 

And  to  the  sight  be  blind, 
Nor  think  of  Him  who  food  supplies 

To  us  and  all  mankind! 
Whether  our  wants  be  much  or  few, 

Or  fine  or  coarse  our  fare, 
To  Heaven's  protecting  care  is  due 

The  voice  of  praise  and  prayer. 

Bowles. 

13.  Merrily,  merrily,  goes  the  bark 

On  a  breeze  from  the  northward  free, 
So  shoots  through  the  morning  sky  the  lark, 
Or  the  Swan  through  the  summer  sea. 

Scott. 

14.  The  bee  is  humming  in  the  sun, 

The  yellow  cowslip  springs, 
And  hark !  from  yonder  woodland's  side 

Again  the  Cuckoo  sings  I 
Cuckoo — Cuckoo !  no  other  note, 

She  sings  from  day  to  day; 
But  I,  though  a  poor  cottage-girl, 

Can  work,  and  read,  and  pray. 
And  whilst  in  knowledge  I  rejoice, 

Which  heavenly  truth  displays, 
Oh !  let  me  still  employ  my  voice 

In  my  Redeemer's  praise. 

Bowles. 


la&s'a  ©ml*.  255 


15.  The  bow  is  gone,  the  Hawk  is  thrown 

For  ever  from  the  hand; 
And  now  we  live  a  bookish  race, 
All  in  a  cultured  land. 

Hwoitt. 

16.  Poor  Robin  sits  and  sings  alone, 

When  showers  of  driving  sleet, 
By  the  cold  winds  of  winter  blown, 

The  cottage  casement  beat. 
Come,  let  him  share  our  chimney-nook, 

And  dry  his  dripping  wing; 
See,  little  Mary  shuts  her  book, 

And  cries,  "Poor  Robin,  sing." 
Methinks  I  hear  his  faint  reply — 

"When  cowslips  deck  the  plain, 
The  lark  shall  carol  in  the  sky, 

And  I  shall  sing  again. 
But  in  the  cold  and  wintry  day 

To  you  I  owe  a  debt, 
That  in  the  sunshine  of  the  May 

I  never  can  forget. 


Bowles. 


17.  0  stormy,  Stormy  Peterel, 

Come  rest  thee,  bird,  awhile; 
There  is  no  storm,  believe  me, 

Anigh  this  summer  isle. 
Come,  rest  thy  waving  pinions ; 

Alight  thee  down  by  me ; 
And  tell  me  somewhat  of  the  lore 

Thou  learnest  on  the  sea  I 


256 


Dost  hear  beneath  the  ocean 

The  gathering  tempest  form  ? 
See'st  thou  afar  the  little  cloud 

That  grows  into  the  storm  ? 
How  is  it  in  the  billowy  depths  — 

Doth  sea-weed  heave  and  swell? 
And  is  a  sound  of  coming  wo 

Rung  from  each  caverned  shell? 
Dost  watch  the  stormy  sunset 

In  tempests  of  the  west  ; 
And  see  the  old  moon  riding  slow 

With  the  new  moon  on  her  breast? 

Howitt. 

18.  Fern-owl,  churn-owl,  or  goat-sucker, 

Night-jar,  dor-hawk,  or  whate'er 
Be  thy  name  among  a  dozen,  — 
Whip-poor-will's  and  who-are-you's  cousin, 
Chuck-will's-widow's  near  relation, 
Thou  art  at  thy  night  vocation, 

Thrilling  the  still  evening  air  ! 
In  the  dark  brown  wood  beyond  us, 

Where  the  night  lies  dusk  and  deep; 
Where  the  fox  his  furrow  maketh, 
Where  the  tawny  owl  awaketh 

Nightly  from  his  day-long  sleep; 
There,  Dor-hawk,  is  thy  abiding, 

Meadow  green  is  not  for  thee  ; 
While  the  aspen  branches  shiver, 
Mid  the  roaring  of  the  river, 

Comes  thy  chirring  voice  to  me. 

Howitt. 


'js  ©ratlt.  257 


19.  Not  down  the  breeze  more  blithely  flew, 
Skimming  the  wave,  the  light  Sea-mew, 

Than  the  gay  galley  bore 
Her  course  upon  that  favouring  wind, 
And  Coolin's  crest  has  sunk  behind, 

And  Slapin's  caverned  shore. 

Scott. 

20.  The  Curlew  and  the  plover, 

The  gor-cock  on  the  brae, 
Send,  with  the  singing  of  the  lark, 
Their  voices  far  away  ! 

Howitt. 

21.  The  coot  and  Moor-hen  from  the  reeds, 

Or  where  the  waters  run 
Crystal  and  warm  and  glittering, 
O'er  the  pebbles  in  the  sun. 

Howitt. 

22.  Of  the  big-bone  lick,  did  you  say?  —  Ay,  we  used  to 

go  there. 

A  Parrot's  very  fond  of  salt!  I  really  declare 
I've  seen  ten  thousand  of  us  there  altogether.  — 
A  beautiful  sight  it  was,  in  fine  summer  weather, 
Like  a  grand  velvet  carpet,  of  orange,  green,  and 

yellow, 

Covering  the  ground!  Ah,  Captain!  my  good  fellow, 
I  had  reason  to  rue  the  day  you  came  there  with 

your  gun! 
I  would  laugh  if  I  could,  but  to  me  it  was  no  fun  — 

heigh-ho  ! 
No  fun  at  all,  Captain,  heigh-ho! 

Howitt. 
22* 


258  Qfot  lairs'*  ©mie. 

23.  Lo!  there  the  hermit  of  the  waste, 

The  ghost  of  ages  dim, 
The  fisher  of  the  solitudes, 

Stands  by  the  river's  brim ! 
Old  Heron,  in  the  feudal  times, 

Beside  the  forest  stream, 
And  by  the  moorland  waters, 

Thus  didst  thou  love  to  dream. 
And  over  towers  and  castles  high, 

And  o'er  the  armed  mea, 
Skirmishing  on  the  border-lands, 

Or  crouching  in  the  glen ; 
Thy  heavy  wings  were  seen  to  flit, 

Thy  azure  shape  was  known 
To  pilgrim  and  to  anchorite, 

In  deserts  scorched  and  lone. 

Howitt. 

24.  The  stockdove  builds  in  the  old  oak  wood, 
The  Rook  in  the  elm-tree  rears  his  brood; 
The  owl  in  a  ruin  doth  hoot  and  stare ; 
The  mavis  and  merle  build  everywhere. 

Howitt. 

25.  Away  to  the  woods  with  the  silvery  rind, 
And  the  emerald  tresses  afloat  on  the  wind ! 
For  'tis  joy  to  go  to  those  sylvan  bowers 
When  summer  is  rich  with  leaves  and  flowers ; 
And  to  see,  mid  the  growth  of  all  lovely  things, 
The  joyous  Pheasant  unfold  his  wings, 

And  then  cower  down,  as  if  to  screen 
His  gorgeous  purple,  gold,  and  green! 

Howitt. 


®f>«  la&s'jff  ©raxlt.  259 

26.  Raven,  on  the  blasted  tree, 
Sitting  croaking  dolefully, 

I  would  have  a  word  with  theel 
Raven,  thou  art  silent  now 
On  the  splintered  forest  bough, 
Glancing  on  me  thy  bright  eye, 
I  shall  ask, — do  thou  reply  1 
In  that  far-gone,  awful  time, 
When  the  earth  was  purged  of  crime, 
And  old  Noah  and  the  seven 
In  the  gopher-ark  were  driven. 

Howitt. 

27.  Speed  messengers  the  country  through ; 
Arouse  old  friends,  and  gather  new; 
Warn  Lanark's  knights  to  gird  their  mail, 
Rouse  the  brave  sons  of  Teviotdale, 

Let  Ettrick's  archers  sharp  their  darts, 
The  fairest  forms,  the  truest  hearts ! 
Call  all,  call  all !  from  Reedswair  path, 
To  the  wild  confines  of  Cape-Wrath ; 
Wide  let  the  news  through  Scotland  ring, 
The  Northern  Eagle  claps  his  wing  I 

Scott. 

28.  The  Stock-doves  together  begin  to  coo 
When  they  hear  the  voice  of  the  old  cuckoo; 
"Ho!  ho!"  say  they,  "he  did  not  find 
Those  far-away  countries  quite  to  his  mind, 
So  he's  come  again  to  see  what  he  can  do 
With  sucking  the  small  birds'  eggs,  coo-coo!" 

Howitt. 


260  fyfa  SUfcj'js  ©ml*. 


29.  At  once  ten  thousand  bow-strings  ring, 

Ten  thousand  arrows  fly! 
Nor  paused  on  the  devoted  Scot 
The  ceaseless  fury  of  their  shot; 

As  fiercely  and  as  fast, 
Forth  whistling  came  the  Gray-goose  wing, 
As  the  wild  hail-stones  pelt  and  ring 
Adown  December's  blast. 

Scott. 

30.  Hawk  and  Osprey  screamed  for  joy, 
O'er  the  beetling  cliffs  of  Hoy, 
Crimson  foam  the  beach  o'erspread, 
The  heath  was  dyed  with  darker  red, 
When  o'er  Erick,  Inguar's  son, 
Dane  and  Northman  piled  the  stone; 
Singing  wild  the  war-song  stern, 
Rest  thee,  Dweller  of  the  Cairn! 

Scott. 

31.  The  Woodpecker  laughs  to  hear  the  strain, 
And  says  "The  old  fellow  is  come  back  again; 
He  sitteth  again  on  the  very  same  tree, 

And  he  talks  of  himself  again!  —  he!  he!  he!" 

Howiti. 

32.  In  town  or  country  —  in  the  densest  alley 

Of  monstrous  London  —  in  the  loneliest  valley  — 
On  palace-roof  —  on  cottage-thatch, 
On  church  or  chapel  —  farm  or  shop, 
The  Sparrow  'a  still  "the  bird  on  the  house-top." 

ffowitt. 


Qtflt  laijj's  ©mle.  261 

33.  The  Black-bird,  and  throstle,  and  loud  missel-cock, 
They  sing  altogether,  the  Cuckoo  to  mock ; 
"What  want  we  with  him?  let  him  stay  over  sea!" 
Sings  the  bold,  piping  reed-sparrow,  "Want  him? 

not  we !" 

"Cuckoo!"  the  Cuckoo  shouts  still, 
"I  care  not  for  you,  let  you  rave  as  you  will!" 
"Cuckoo!"  the  Cuckoo  doth  cry, 
And  the  little  boys  mock  him  as  they  go  by. 

Howitt. 

34.  0  gay  Goshawk  and  tercel  bold, 
Then  might  ye  rule  it  as  ye  "wold;" 
Then  sate  ye  on  a  perch  of  gold, 

And  kings  were  your  compeers  1 
But  that  was  in  the  days  gone  by; 
The  days  of  Norman  chivalry, 
When  the  low  crouched  unto  the  high; — 

The  times  of  other  years ! 

Howitt. 

35.  There  the  hum  of  the  bees  through  the  noonday  is 

heard, 

And  the  chirp,  and  the  cry,  and  the  song  of  the  bird ; 
There  up  the  tree-trunk,  like  a  fly  on  the  wall, 
To  pick  the  gray  moss,  runs  the  tree-creeper  small ; 
There  the  wren  golden-crested,  so  lovely  to  see, 
Hangs  its  delicate  nest  from  the  twigs  of  the  tree ; 
And  there  coos  the  Ring-dove — oh,  who  would  not  go, 
That  voice  of  the  wood  to  hear,  dreamy  and  low! 
Yes,  come  to  the  wood — to  the  woodpecker's  tree, 
There  is  joy  'mong  the  green  leaves  for  thee  and  for 

me! 

Howitt. 


262 


36.  The  merry  Titmouse  is  a  comical  fellow; 

He  weareth  a  plumage  of  purple  and  yellow, 
Barred  over  with  black,  and  with  white  interlaced;  — 
Depend  on't,  the  titmouse  has  excellent  taste. 
And  he,  like  his  betters  of  noble  old  blood, 
Keeps  up,  with  great  spirit,  a  family  feud  ; 
A  feud  with  the  owl  ;  —  and  why  ?  would  you  know  ;— 
An  old,  bygone  quarrel  of  ages  ago  :  — 
Perhaps  in  the  ark  might  be  taken  offence,  — 
But  I  know  not,  indeed,  of  the  where  and  the 

whence  ;  — 

Only  this  is  quite  true,  —  let  them  meet  as  they  may, 
Having  quarrelled  long  since,  they  would  quarrel 

to-day. 

Howitt. 

37.  0  lovely  Bird  of  Paradise, 

I'll  go  where  thou  dost  gol 
Rise  higher  yet,  and  higher  yet, 

For  a  stormy  wind  doth  blow. 
Now  up  above  the  tempest 

We  are  sailing  in  the  calm, 
Amid  the  golden  sunshine, 

And  where  the  air  is  balm. 
See,  far  below  us  rolling, 

The  storm-cloud  black  and  wide; 
The  fury  of  its  raging 

Is  as  an  angry  tide  ! 
0  gentle  bird  of  paradise, 

Thy  happy  lot  I'll  share  ; 
And  go  where'er  thou  goest 

On,  through  the  sunny  air! 

Howitt. 


'a  ©r<ule.  263 


38.  0  Falcon  proud,  and  goshawk  gay, 
Your  pride  of  place  has  passed  away; 
The  lone  wood  is  your  home  by  day, 

Your  resting  perch  by  night; 
The  craggy  rock  your  castle-tower; 
The  gay  green-wood  your  ladies'  bower; 
Your  own  wild  will,  the  master  power 

That  can  control  your  flight! 

Howitt. 

39.  Pray  thee,  Owl,  what  art  thou  doing, 
With  that  dolefulest  tu-whoo-ing? 
Dark  the  night  is,  dark  and  dreary, 
Never  a  little  star  shines  cheery; 
Wild  north  winds  come  up  the  hollow, 
And  the  pelting  rain  doth  follow ; 
And  the  trees,  the  tempest  braving, 
To  and  fro  are  wildly  waving! 
Every  living  thing  is  creeping 

To  its  den,  and  silence  keeping, 
Saving  thou,  the  night  hallooing 
With  thy  dismalest  tu-whooing  1 

Howitt. 

40.  Then  softly,  softly  will  we  tread 

By  inland  streams,  to  see 
Where  the  Pelican  of  the  silent  north,       ,^ 

Sits  there  all  silently. 
But  if  thou  love  the  Southern  Seas, 

And  pleasant  summer  weather, 
Come,  let  us  mount  this  gallant  ship, 

And  sail  away  together. 

Howitt. 


264  Qftt  i,a&2'jff  ©ml*. 

41.  The  Woodpecker  green  he  has  not  his  abiding 
Where  the  owls  and  the  bats  from  the  daylight  are 

hiding; 

Where  the  bright  mountain-streams  glide  on  rock- 
beds  away, 

The  dark  water-ousel  may  warble  and  play; 
In  the  sedge  of  the  river  the  reed-sparrow  build ; 
And  the  peewit  among  the  brown  clods  of  the  field ; 
The  sea-gull  may  scream  on  the  breast  of  the  tide ; 
On  the  foam-crested  billows  the  peterel  may  ride ; 
But  the  woodpecker  asketh  nor  river  nor  sea ; 
Give  him  but  the  old  forest,  and  old  forest-tree, 
And  he'll  leave  to  the  proud  lonely  eagle  the  height 
Of  the  mist-shrouded  precipice  splintered  and  white ; 
And  he'll  leave  to  the  gorcock  the  heather  and  fern, 
And  the  lake  of  the  valley  to  woodcock  and  hern ; 
To  the  skylark  he'll  leave  the  wild  fields  of  the  air, 
The  sunshine  and  rainbow  ne'er  tempted  him  there ; 
The  greenwood  for  him  is  the  place  of  his  rest, 
And  the  broad-branching  tree  is  the  home  he  loves 

best. 

Let  us  go  to  the  haunt  of  the  woodpecker  green, 
In  those  depths  of  the  wood  there  is  much  to  be 
seen, 

Howitt. 

42.  Not  in  the  land  of  a  thousand  flowers, 
Not  in  the  glorious  spice-wood  bowers ; 
Not  in  fair  islands  by  bright  seas  embraced, 
Lives  the  wild  Ostrich,  the  bird  of  the  waste. 
Come  on  to  the  desert,  his  dwelling  is  there, 
Where  the  breath  of  the  Simoom  is  hot  in  the  air; 


Qftt  3U&J'*  ©ml*.  265 

To  the  desert,  where  never  a  green  blade  grew, 
Where  never  its  shadow  a  broad  tree  threw, 
Where  sands  rise  up,  and  in  columns  are  wheeled 
By  the  winds  of  the  desert,  like  hosts  in  the  field; 
Where  the  wild  ass  sends  forth  a  lone,  dissonant 

bray, 
And  the  herds  of  the  wild  horse  speed  on  through 

the  day — 

The  creatures  unbroken,  with  manes  flying  free, 
Like  the  steeds  of  the  whirlwind,  if  such  there  may 

be. 

Yes,  there  in  the  desert,  like  armies  for  war, 
The  flocks  of  the  ostrich  are  seen  from  afar, 
Speeding  on,  speeding  on  o'er  the  desolate  plain, 
While  the  fleet  mounted  Arab  pursueth  in  vain ! 
But  'tis  joy  to  the  traveller  who  toils  through  that 

land, 

The  egg  of  the  ostrich  to  find  in  the  sand ; 
'Tis  sustenance  for  him  when  his  store  is  low, 
And  weary  with  travel  he  journeyeth  slow 
To  the  well  of  the  desert,  and  finds  it  at  last 
Seven  days'  journey  from  that  he  hath  passed. 

Howitt. 

43.  In  books  of  travels  I  have  heard 
Of  a  wise  thing,  the  Tailor-bird; 
A  bird  of  wondrous  skill,  that  sews, 
Upon  the  bough  whereon  it  grows, 
A  leaf  into  a  nest  so  fair 
That  with  it  nothing  can  compare ; 
A  light  and  lovely  airy  thing, 
That  vibrates  with  the  breeze's  wing. 


266  Hit  2.  airs'*  ©ml*. 

Ah  well !  it  is  with  cunning  power 
That  little  artist  makes  her  bower; 
But  come  into  an  English  wood, 
And  I'll  show  you  a  work  as  good, 
A  work  the  tailor-bird's  excelling, 
A  more  elaborate,  snugger  dwelling, 
More  beautiful,  upon  my  word, 
Wrought  by  a  little  English  bird. 

Howitt. 

44.  No,  not  in  the  meadow,  and  not  on  the  shore ; 
And  not  on  the  wide  heath  with  furze  covered  o'er, 
Where  the  cry  of  the  plover,  the  hum  of  the  bee, 
Give  a  feeling  of  joyful  security: 

And  not  in  the  woods,  where  the  Nightingale's  song 
From  the  chestnut  and  orange  pours  all  the  day  long, 
And  not  where  the  martin  has  built  in  the  eaves, 
And  the  redbreast  e'er  covered  the  children  with 

leaves, 

Shall  ye  find  the  proud  eagle !     0  no,  come  away ; 
I  will  show  you  his  dwelling,  and  point  out  his  prey. 

Howitt. 

45.  For  the  handsome  Kingfisher,  go  not  to  the  tree, 
No  bird  of  the  field  or  the  forest  is  he; 

In  the  dry  riven  rock  he  did  never  abide, 

And  not  on  the  brown  heath  all  barren  and  wide. 

He  lives  whsre  the  fresh,  sparkling  waters  are 

flowing, 
Where  the  tall,  heavy  Typha  and  Loosestrife  are 

growing ; 

By  the  bright  little  streams  that  all  joyfully  run 
Awhile  in  the  shadow,  and  then  in  the  sun. 


'5  ©ml*.  267 


He  lives  in  a  hole  that  is  quite  to  his  mind, 
With  the  green,  mossy  hazel  roots  firmly  entwined; 
Where  the  dark  alder-bough  waves  gracefully  o'er, 
And  the  sword-flag  and  arrow-head  grow  at  his  door. 
There  busily,  busily,  all  the  day  long, 
He  seeks  for  small  fishes  the  shallows  among; 
For  he  builds  his  nest  of  the  pearly  fish-bone, 
Deep,  deep  in  the  bank  far  retired,  and  alone. 
Then  the  brown  water-rat  from  his  burrow  looks 

out, 

To  see  what  his  neighbour  kingfisher's  about; 
And  the  green  dragon-fly,  flitting  slowly  away, 
Just  pauses  one  moment  to  bid  him  good-day, 
0  happy  kingfisher !  what  care  should  he  know, 
By  the  clear,  pleasant  streams,  as  he  skims  to  and 

fro, 

Now  lost  in  the  shadow,  now  bright  in  the  sheen 
Of  the  hot  summer  sun,  glancing  scarlet  and  green ! 

Howitt, 

46.  The  Humming-bird!  the  humming-bird, 

So  fairy-like  and  bright ; 
It  lives  among  the  sunny  flowers, 

A  creature  of  delight ! 
In  the  radiant  islands  of  the  East, 

Where  fragrant  spices  grow, 
A  thousand  thousand  humming-birds 

Go  glancing  to  and  fro. 
Like  living  fires  they  flit  about, 

Scarce  larger  than  a  bee, 
Among  the  broad  palmetto  leaves, 

And  through  the  fan-palm  tree. 


268  f$ht  fairs'*  ©twit. 

And  in  those  wild  and  verdant  woods 

Where  stately  moras  tower, 
Where  hangs  from  branching  tree  to  tree 

The  scarlet  passion-flower; 
Where  on  the  mighty  river  banks, 

La  Platte  or  Amazon, 
The  cayman,  like  an  old  tree  trunk, 

Lies  basking  in  the  sun ; 
There  builds  her  nest  the  humming-bird 

Within  the  ancient  wood, 
Her  nest  of  silky  cotton  down, 

And  rears  her  tiny  brood. 
She  hangs  it  to  a  slender  twig, 

Where  waves  it  light  and  free, 
As  the  Campanero  tolls  his  song, 

And  rocks  the  mighty  tree. 

Howitt. 

47.  All  crimson  is  her  shining  breast, 

Like  to  the  red,  red  rose ; 
Her  wing  is  the  changeful  green  and  blue 
That  the  neck  of  the  Peacock  shows. 

Howitt. 

48.  Swan  of  the  ocean,  on  thy  throne  of  waves 
Exultant  dost  thou  sit,  thy  mantling  plumes 
Ruffled  with  joy,  thy  pride  of  neck  elate, 
To  hail  fair  peace,  like  angel  visitant, 
Descending  amid  joy  of  earth  and  heaven, 
To  bless  thy  fair  abode. 

Milman. 


'a  ©mlt. 


49.  Twittering  Swallow,  fluttering  swallow, 

Art  come  back  again? 
Come  from  water-bed  or  hollow, 

Where  thou,  winter-long,  hast  lain? 
Nay,  I'll  not  believe  it,  swallow, 
Not  in  England  hast  thou  tarried; 

Many  a  day 

Far  away 

Has  thy  wing  been  wearied, 
Over  continent  and  isle, 
Many  and  many  and  many  a  mile  I 
Tell  me,  pr'ythee  bird,  the  story 
Of  thy  six  months  migratory  ! 
If  thou  wert  a  human  traveller, 
We  a  quarto  book  should  see  ; 
Thou  wouldst  be  the  sage  unraveller 

Of  some  dark  old  mystery  ; 
Thou  wouldst  tell  the  wise  men,  swallow, 
Of  the  rivers'  hidden  fountains  ; 

Plain  and  glen, 

And  savage  men, 
And  Afghauns  of  the  mountains  ; 
Creatures,  plants,  and  men  unknown, 
And  cities  in  the  deserts  lone  : 
Thou  wouldst  be,  thou  far-land  dweller, 
Like  an  Arab  story-teller  1 

Howitt. 

50.  Dove  of  the  wilderness,  thy  snowy  wing 
In  slumber  droops  not;  Lilian,  thou  alone, 
Mid  the  deep  quiet,  wakest.    Dost  thou  rove, 
Idolatrous  of  yon  majestic  moon, 

23* 


270  f&lt  ;La:iJ2'5  ©ml*. 

That  like  a  crystal-throned  queen  in  heaven, 
Seems  with  her  present  deity  to  hush 
To  beauteous  adoration  all  the  earth? 
Might  seem  the  solemn  silent  mountain  tops 
Stand  up  and  worship,  the  translucent  streams 
Down  the  hill  sides  glittering  cherish  the  pure  light 
Beneath  the  shadowy  foliage  o'er  them  flung 
At  intervals ;  the  lake,  so  silver  white, 
Glistens,  all  indistinct  the  snowy  swans 
Bask  in  the  radiance  cool ;  doth  Lilian  muse 
To  that  apparent  queen  her  vesper  hymn  ? 

Milman. 


THE   END. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW. 


A     000  778  057     o 


